After the Fall
by Pretty Desdemona
Summary: A lot can happen in eighteen years. People change, they move and grow. Life blurs out of focus. But reality will always have a way of bringing you back home again.
1. The Year After the Fall

A/N Hello again everyone!

This story is the sequel to Victim of the Fall. Please read that before you embark on this one! If you're one of my treasured readers, then welcome back to the story!

As I've already said, this will be 19 chapters long, so quite a bit shorter than we're used to from me, I think. Also, because of the length, the chapters will be longer.

Hope you all like how it progresses!

xx

Desdemona

* * *

1.

THE YEAR AFTER THE FALL

"_And if he loves me, why does he leave? Don't say goodbye like you're burying him, 'cause the world is round and he might return._"

_June 9th, 2001._

The summer dress drifted pleasantly around her ankles as Hermione walked.

She noticed things like that now, how the fabric tickled the tops of her feet, how the sun scalded her bare shoulders slightly, how the smell of Blaise's cologne wafted over her as they strolled side by side down the quiet street. Not everything was nice, it wasn't all perfect, but she felt more disposed to noticing the nice things now. Because, she had realised, in every situation, no matter how awful, there was always something good to see. Even if it was a particularly beautiful shade of green on a particularly pretty leaf that caught her eye in the midst of a crisis.

"You alright?" she asked of her strangely silent companion.

He shrugged noncommittally. "I think today's session will be hard."

"Why's that?"

"Scott said last week that we'd probably be dealing with my social anxiety." Blaise answered, grimacing.

Hermione nodded in understanding. She had quite enough social anxiety to be going on with herself, and had learnt that it was always tough to confront. It was far easier for one to just crawl into a hole, put one's hands over one's ears and pretend none of it was happening. But mind healers didn't let you do that.

She put a hand on Blaise's elbow in an attempt to comfort him. "It'll be alright. You can take it all out in training this afternoon, right?"

"Yep, that's the plan!" he responded, smiling weakly.

The pair reached the now familiar townhouse in the now familiar quiet London street and Hermione turned to Blaise, saying the same thing she said before every session. "Coffee shop after?"

"You know it." he grinned shakily at her.

They walked into the house and sat down in the entrance hall cum waiting room in silence. After a few moments Maya, Hermione's mind healer, called her into a room that led off the waiting room. With a quick smile and wave to Blaise, Hermione entered.

She sat down, slipping off her flats and curling her legs under her as Maya rested a cup of tea in front of her and took a seat herself.

"So what's been happening?" the older woman asked, her chin dropping to lean on her fist as she stared at her client.

Hermione shrugged and said with a confused smile, "Everything and nothing."

"Let's break it down then. What's everything?" Maya urged with an understanding tone.

She took a deep breath, trying to think of a way to summarize the way her life had been progressing lately. "Well, since I moved back into the Burrow last September, things have just been… Alright in a strange way… It's kind of nice. I'd forgotten how much I liked being there, you know? Mum and Dad like it too. They're still staying with the Weasleys, as is Harry and… Even though the house is full to capacity, it never feels crowded. It's just homely… I like living with them all. But I still have that nagging feeling that I was telling you about a couple of weeks ago, that Ron is expecting something of me after everything he did, bringing my parents back. He hasn't said anything, but I can just tell."

Hermione took a few deeps breaths as her rant wound down to an end. She used to feel self conscious talking to Maya, ultra aware of trying to make herself understood clearly, but her mind healer always knew what Hermione was trying to say, even when she herself didn't think she was making any sense at all and stumbled over her words.

"You might be doing some of his thinking for him there, Hermione." said Maya sternly, "Perhaps you should try just trusting him. If he wants something, he will say it. And if he does vocalise it, you can deal with it then. Until that moment though, his thoughts and desires aren't your concern, are they?"

"No. They're not. You're right…" Hermione cast her eyes down to her lap, letting her mind healer's words sink into her thoughts. "I think ultimately, that it's me. _I_ feel obligated to him. And it scares me that he might think I am too."

"So what do you think you might be projecting onto him with these fears? Do you _want _him to say something?"

Hermione grimaced in frustrated confusion, wishing that she could give a more definitive answer, "No… Well… Yes… I don't know! I still think about him like my partner a bit. And sometimes it feels strange not to hold his hand or kiss him… Sometime I feel like _I_ want to be the one to say something but then… I guess I just feel like I need more time for myself. I'm not ready to confront all of the stuff we'll need to confront if we decided to get back together."

Maya leant forward and seized a random piece of parchment off the coffee table that sat between them, her quill poising over it to write. "And what do you feel you'll need to confront?"

Hermione listed the issues automatically; they had been running through her head for almost two years. "The war and everything that happened. What we went through with Harry. My relationship with…" her breath caught in her throat for a moment, "The romantic encounters I've had outside of Ron."

Maya jotted these things down as she spoke, her eye brow rising over the slip in Hermione's sentence. When she was done, she stood and crossed the distance between them. Suddenly, Hermione found her vision obscured by the piece of parchment as her mind healer held it up in her face, inches from her nose.

"What do you see?" asked Maya.

Hermione eyes struggled to take in the words written on the parchment that listed 'war', 'Harry', then at the bottom, 'Draco'.

It was all too close, Hermione didn't like it. But when she shrank back, Maya only pushed the parchment further into her face.

"What do you see?" the older woman repeated calmly.

"Nothing!" Hermione answered sharply, her heart beginning to beat rapidly.

And just as suddenly as it had come, the piece of parchment was gone. "Exactly." said Maya approvingly, resuming her seat, "You can't see past the restrictions you put up for yourself, Hermione. You must understand that these issues are separate and they belong wholly to you and you alone. Ron has nothing to do with those things. He stands on his own as do your feelings for him. But as long as you keep them close like that, allowing them to obscure your vision of him, of the world, you will see nothing but them wherever you look."

Hermione nodded stiffly, acknowledging the truth behind her mind healer's words. The trick with the parchment was truer than she'd realised. Of course she would not be able to move past her problems if she kept them so close to everything she knew. And associating them with Ron would only do more harm than good.

"Thank you." she said breathlessly, after a moment.

"Did I make you uncomfortable?" asked Maya kindly, noticing Hermione's stiff posture.

"A little. But I understand what you were trying to do."

"Good." said mind healer with a firm nod.

Hermione leant forward, picking up her mug of tea and taking a few soothing sips before she said, "I think you're right though. I feel like I'm making excuses sometimes, about Ron. Because I'm scared and I don't want it all to fuck up."

"And that's alright." Maya smiled warmly, "You're allowed to be scared. Anyone would be. But don't keep trying to justify it with all these theories. Just be scared and leave it at that, yes?"

"Yep. I'll try." Hermione responded, smiling wearily.

Maya grinned at her proudly before she took a deep breath and changed the subject. "So you said everything and nothing. We've had everything, now what's nothing?"

Hermione took a minute to think about her choice of words before she spoke again. "Well, it's just all so still now isn't it? Everything that's happening with me is all internal. I mean, the boys have all gone off to Auror training, Ginny's playing for the Holyhead Harpies, and Isobel's started at the Department of International Magical Cooperation… I just feel kind of left behind. Everything's just so… so… _good_. And honestly, I don't know how to act anymore. I mean, I feel happy _most of the time_ now, Maya. And that's so fucking foreign to me still that I feel like I must be going mad! It's exhausting!" she laughed wearily.

Maya shrugged and smiled compassionately. "That's post traumatic stress disorder, Hermione. You're hyper-vigilant, waiting for something to go wrong. Try for some acceptance. You're allowed to feel these things! That's the absolute beauty of this wonderful calm you're experiencing in your life right now, isn't it? You're completely free to be as mad as you want, totally at liberty to be confused! You've never been given that opportunity before, whether because of outside influences or simply because you yourself would not allow it. Now is the time to let yourself be as you are, _exactly _as you are."

"Even when everyone else is doing so brilliantly?" asked Hermione meekly.

"Their experience of their own lives or yours is none of your concern. They might be doing brilliantly, or they may not, but what does it matter? It won't change how you are at all. Shaming yourself for not, as you put it, 'doing brilliantly' is only going to make you feel worse in the end. It's not constructive."

"That makes sense…" Hermione conceded.

"Besides, I think you _are _doing brilliantly. Choosing to undergo healing is a big step. Not only did you take that step, but you've continued on the path. This is no small feat. You need to have faith that at some point, whether it be in one week or one year, you'll reach a place where you want to move further along the path of your life. And while we're on the subject, I have a question for you. In an ideal world, if you had absolute confidence in yourself, what would you like the next step on the path to be?"

"My career." Hermione answered instantly. It had been playing on her mind recently and in tiny, unguarded moments; she'd even begun to feel a little excited by the prospect of working.

Maya nodded thoughtfully, "Oh? And what would you like that to be?"

"I want to be a lawyer." Hermione said in a rush of breath.

"I think you'd do very well at that." Maya responded, seeming to swell a little with pride. "Do you know where to begin to make this goal a reality? Remember, this is in an ideal world, I do not want you to feel pressured by these questions to move into action…"

Hermione nodded fervently, she had, of course, done the research the moment she'd begun seriously considering the idea. "It's ok. I'm alright with it. I think that I could begin the process now if I chose; it's not something that I particularly fear as such… It's just the beginning of the process that makes me uncomfortable; approaching law firms and asking to be taken on as a protégé."

"Very good. And what fears exactly are holding you back from beginning this process?" Maya asked.

Hermione grimaced. "My NEWT results. They weren't the best…"

"Understandable. But your record prior to your NEWTs was glowing, wasn't it? On top of that, you have your own notoriety to recommend you."

"But I don't want to be given a job based on my fame!" Hermione responded a tad incredulously.

Maya looked baffled, "Why ever not? Your fame comes from your reputation for being the brains that contributed to the downfall of the Dark Lord. That, in and of itself, is an achievement you should be proud of. The lawyers of note in our society are not stupid people, Hermione. They will hire you because they will believe in your ability. An ability that has been advertised not by your grades, but by your actions. Do you have a particular mentor in mind yet?"

Hermione shifted a little uncomfortably. She did have a possible mentor in mind, but the woman she was thinking of was so established and renowned for her work that it was bold and almost ridiculous for Hermione to be even thinking of her. Such a woman would not take on a protégé with so little experience…

"Dawn Fortescue." she mumbled into her tea, hoping that Maya would not laugh. "It's stupid, I know…"

The older woman, of course, did not even chuckle. She merely raised an eye brow, the look on her face impressed. "I do not think that is stupid in the slightest. In fact, I think Dawn would be absolutely happy to take you on."

"You know her?" Hermione asked in awe.

The mind healer nodded, "I do. In fact, she has mentioned you once or twice, expressed hopes that you might enter into law as a career. I would owl her this very minute if I did not know that she will not be taking on any new protégés until late next year. Would you be willing to wait?"

Hermione gaped unattractively. "I… uh… yes… but… She knows who I am?!"

"She does indeed." said Maya, beaming at Hermione's obviously thrilled reaction. "I will bring you up the next time I see her, I'm sure she'll be nothing short of delighted to hire you as her protégé. And in the meantime, you can continue the work on yourself. Consider it preparation."

Hermione couldn't help it. She grinned. "Ok. I will."

They lapsed into a companionable silence as all these new ideas rolled around in Hermione's head.

_Hermione Granger, lawyer, protégé of Dawn Fortescue. _

She couldn't deny that those words tasted delectable in her mind. With everything that had been happening for the rest of the tovarasi in the past year and all that they were achieving, Hermione had begun getting a niggling feeling in the back of her mind that told her that laying about in the sun at the Burrow, devouring books, wasn't going to work forever. She'd wanted to have some sort of goal, some sort of end game to look forward to. And it seemed this was it.

She would be the first to admit that it had been nice though to just be lazy and free flowing with her life for the past year or so, filling her days with thoughts and conversation rather than worries and difficult tasks.

It had been great even to watch her friends all growing and moving around her. Isobel had of course just started in her new position at the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the glamour of which quite suited the girl quite well. Ginny was doing what she loved most and playing chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Blaise, Draco, Harry and Ron had all gone off together to join the Aurors, solidifying a tentative friendship between the two Gryffindors and the two Slytherins that only amplified their old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's goals through their seventh year. Susan and Padma had begun studying at St Mungos together, Padma to be a healer and Susan to be a mind healer. Luna was off travelling only god knew where, trying to find various completely fictional creatures, sending a letter only once every couple of weeks to update her friends on her wellbeing and whereabouts. Juliet had oddly started working for George at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and seemed perfectly in her element. And Eli was doing something similar to Hermione, but he'd made his plans to start teaching at Hogwarts the very minute a position opened up.

All in all, everyone was doing well. Life was ok.

Hermione glanced at the clock and noted that her time was almost up and she would very soon be expected at the coffee shop by Blaise.

Her feet slid out from under her and dropped to the floor where she proceeded to begin pulling on her shoes. Maya handed her a tightly wound scroll that contained all of the homework she was to do before their next appointment and cleared her throat.

"So." she said after a while before asking Hermione the same question she'd asked her every week for the past year. "Do you want to talk about Draco today?"

Hermione's answer was ready, and it was the same as always. "No. Maybe next week." she answered with a stiff smile.

And then she left.

* * *

Blaise was waiting for her when she reached their usual coffee shop, looking casually happy with his legs sprawled out in front of his chair. Hermione slid out one of the metal chairs opposite him and sat down, setting her bag on the table and pulling out the scroll Maya had given her.

"So I guess it wasn't as bad as you thought then?" she asked, smiling.

Blaise sighed contentedly, "No, not really. I don't know what it is, but before every session I always feel so anxious, like something really bad is going to happen. Then I go in and talk to Scott and it only makes things better." he laughed ironically, "My expectations are all over the place."

"I know exactly what you mean!" Hermione grinned knowingly.

A waitress came out of nowhere and set a cup of hot chocolate in front of Hermione and a long black in front of Blaise.

"So, you talked about Draco yet?" he asked with a wry smile once the waitress had left.

Hermione snorted, "What do you think?"

He laughed perceptively and waited a moment for her to continue. When she did not, he rolled his eyes and leant forward, his elbows resting on the streaky table that sat between them. "What's with the hesitation?"

She shrugged, "I just don't want to go there yet."

"Why not? It's been a year since everything happened…"

"I'm well aware of that, Blaise." her tone was a tad sharp but she offered no apology for it. Blaise knew her feelings, he knew that she had not really chosen to open up to anyone about her past love and was unlikely to do so now. She envied him that he had been able to move on past Ginny so quickly. From what she had so far gathered, Blaise's failed relationship had been one of the first things he'd brought up with his mind healer. And now, he never looked back and he seemed better for it.

Blaise held his hands up in submission, "Alright, I'll leave it be." he took a sip of his coffee before saying, "Oh, and by the way, the boys are meeting us here so we can go to training together."

Hermione knew that by 'the boys' he meant Harry, Ron and Draco himself. She sighed resignedly and nodded her acknowledgement.

It hadn't been a conscious thought to stop talking about her emotions around the former death eater, no, it had happened slowly over time as the tovarasi settled into their lives and the reality of her relationships had sunk in properly. She'd nurtured a tiny part inside her heart that still believed, very quietly, that they might get back together, that maybe he might do something to fix all of his past wrongs and give her a chance to fix hers. But the event she'd been waiting for had never happened. He'd been around a lot, drifting in and out of her life as much as the rest of the group. He hadn't been mean or cold, in fact he treated her now with far more respect than he ever had before. But there was no hint of any of his past feelings at all. He was friendly and that was it.

Hermione had accepted the fact that whatever his feelings might have been, and she wasn't intending to do his thinking for him anymore, he didn't have any intention of rekindling what they had. That part of their lives was over.

And the reason, ultimately, that she didn't open up about how much this hurt her was because she had built a nice little cage inside herself in which to house this hurt. To talk about it, to even open her mouth with the intention of speaking her truth, would mean an emotional outburst of such catastrophic intensity that she knew she was not in the position to handle that right then. She wanted to wait until the feelings were less jagged, until they faded a little. And that would happen, just as it did with all feelings, whether they be grief or happiness or love. It may never fade entirely, she knew that, but it would become less poignant eventually.

Until then, she'd deal with it inside herself. She was conscious of her process really, and was taking the advice that Maya offered her on other subjects and applying them to her situation with Draco. She knew deep down that it wasn't entirely healthy to bottle it all up, but she'd still try her best to be healthy about her thinking. And this was the only thing that saved her really, that stopped her completely falling apart. She was finally doing it healthily.

She trusted herself. And that was something different.

Hermione's mind snapped back to the present suddenly when Blaise gave a cry of greeting to someone behind her and stood up from the table. She cast her eyes about the street until she found them, the three boys, striding confidently towards the coffee shop. Blaise moved off to meet them, giving Draco a one armed hug and shaking Harry and Ron's hands.

They made quite the picture, the four of them, all in their training gear, all laughing good naturedly.

Hermione absolutely loved seeing those four boys together like that, all animosity forgotten. They were friends. She could see it in the easiness with which they talked to one another, in the playful pushes, and in the effortless confidence in the way they stood. Harry's hands were forever in his hair, Draco's hung loosely by his sides, Ron's were buried in his pockets and Blaise's gesticulated wildly as he spoke.

The group made towards Hermione as she sat with her legs crossed at the table.

"There's the basket case!" cried Harry to her by way of a greeting.

Hermione chuckled, "Yeah, you can talk!"

Harry grinned and collapsed into a free chair as Ron ruffled her hair before taking a seat beside him. Draco dropped down next to Blaise, smiling nonchalantly at her. She tried to return his smile but felt that perhaps her expression was rather more stiff than his given everything that had just been running through her mind only moments before.

"How was Maya?" asked Ron, gesturing for the waitress to come and take their new orders.

"Good! I have some news actually." she responded, barely containing the smile that was suddenly moving up her face. Sharing her news was a snap decision and she wasn't entirely sure what had brought on the desire to speak about it.

"Oh yeah?" said Harry as the table fell silent and four pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

She nodded and cast her eyes down to her lap bashfully, suddenly embarrassed about telling the boys what had taken place in her mind healer's office. "I'm going to be a lawyer."

"Wow!" exclaimed Ron, his hand landing on her shoulder affectionately. "That's brilliant!"

"Have you found a mentor yet?" asked Blaise eagerly.

"Well… nothing's set in stone. But I'm hoping to work under Dawn Fortescue. Maya knows her and she's going to set it up. She said she's heard of me." she couldn't help the fierce pride she felt lacing through her voice.

Ron and Harry's faces reflected their confusion as Blaise and Draco's fell into unadulterated shock.

"But, Hermione…" said Draco in awe, "That's fucking amazing! Dawn Fortescue! Holy shit!"

"I'm sorry but would someone tell me who the fuck Dawn Fortescue is?" asked Harry with a bemused chuckle.

"Only the most notable wizarding lawyer in the country, maybe even the world!" exclaimed Blaise, his absolute pleasure at Hermione's achievement reflected in his tone.

"When do you start?" Draco urged.

"What's the pay like?" demanded Harry with a laugh.

Hermione held up her hands in a placating gesture in an attempt to ease the group's raucous enthusiasm. "Don't get too excited, she's not taking on anyone new until next year… So I'll have to wait a bit. But yeah! That's the news!"

Hermione giggled as the boys hurled congratulations at her and patted her on the back. Her excitement felt almost uncontainable now that she'd said it aloud, now that she'd told someone. It made it all so much more real. And to see them all so happy for her made her heart glow with warmth.

Once the group had finished their various beverages and had discussed, in detail, Hermione's possible new career choice; the boys went one way to go off to Auror training, while Hermione went the other, keeping an eye out for a secluded alleyway in which to apparate back to the Burrow.

She bounced on her heels as she walked, feeling rather more happy and together since she had allowed herself to laugh with her friends. But she was also exhausted. The sessions with Maya, no matter how eventful or uneventful they were, always made her sleepy. It was her routine now to go home, grab a book and a cup of tea and retreat to her room. The Weasleys had kindly kicked out the ghoul and converted the attic into a bedroom for her. Arthur and Molly remained in their room, Harry and Ginny in hers, Hermione's parents took Percy's old room, while Ron stayed exactly where he was.

Everyone knew to leave Hermione alone when she got home now, not that they feared for her emotional state, they just understood that after her sessions she needed calm and quiet in order to re-collect herself. She appreciated this.

When she arrived back at the Burrow, she found Molly and her mum in full swing preparing what looked like an extravagant dinner.

"What's going on?" asked Hermione as she walked through the door.

"Hello sweetheart." Nina Granger said warmly, abandoning the pot she was stirring in order to peck Hermione on the cheek.

"You guys have been busy…" Hermione chuckled, seeing more and more food piled on the already groaning wooden dining table as she moved further into the kitchen.

"Ginny's organised a tovarasi dinner tonight." said Molly by way of an explanation, sounding a little harried. "Didn't she tell you?"

"It's the first I've heard of it." Hermione shrugged. "Do you want some help?"

Molly smiled warmly and waved her off. "No, no, dear. You go on up to your room, Ginny will be back soon and three chefs is more than enough for this kitchen. I've already made your tea; it's sitting just there on the end table."

Hermione smiled gratefully and, after giving her mother's arm an affectionate squeeze, took up her tea and made her way upstairs. She would tell the rest of the family about her good news later, for right then, she needed her oasis.

Once inside her room, she took three great big breaths. She didn't feel she needed steadying but whatever part of her nerves were frayed, taking in the smell of her room was comfort enough to sooth them.

Hermione had made her room as comfortable as she could with what was available, bringing with her most of the things she'd acquired while living at Flourish and Blotts. The beams that stretched across the high, slanted ceiling were adorned with fairy lights and hanging ornaments, while the entire western wall was taken up by a huge bookcase. On the floor was a collection of Persian rugs, which she'd come to adore since living in Diagon Alley and her bed was large enough to sleep a family of four, just as she liked it.

Living in the attic meant that the size of her room equalled about the size of each of the Burrow's floors. It was almost like having her own flat really. Molly had figured that seeing as Hermione was there most of the time and liked her own space, that it be only right she had a lot of it. And a lot of it she got. The attic was almost bigger than all the rooms in her old flat put together.

She liked it because it made her feel separate from the rest of the house and its occupants. She had her own little world up there, her own tranquil island. But she was also able to go and visit the mainland when she needed to. Unlike Flourish and Blotts, supportive company was only a flight of stairs away now. This way, she got to _be _alone, but she never had to _feel _alone.

Hermione shrugged off her dress, letting it fall into a pile at her feet before stepping out of it and her shoes. She made her way over to the bookcase, her bare feet padding across the wooden floor, and pulled out a familiar volume, one that she hadn't read in a while. Not since she'd started greedily coveting fiction anyway.

Bastet's Line felt heavier than she remembered.

She settled down in her bed that sat next to a window, open to let in the summer breeze. The sunlight warmed her skin as she sunk her head into the pillow and propped the book open on her chest.

* * *

Hermione woke, hours later, just as dusk was falling on the Burrow, heralded by the singing cicadas. Bastet's Line sat open next to her, her arms curling around it almost protectively. She could hear the sound of many voices drifting up from the garden below and through her open window, carried by a pleasant breeze that made the loose strands of hair around her face dance lazily.

Someone was tapping tentatively on the trap door that led up to her room. She dragged the sheets up to cover her half naked body and grunted in response to the tapping. Whoever it was accurately took this as an invitation to enter.

Hermione lifted her head a little as the trap door creaked open and Ron's face appeared over the rim.

"Sorry, just wanted to let you know that everyone's here." he said casually.

"It's ok. I needed to wake up anyway. Come in." she replied with a yawn and a stretch.

Ron heaved himself up into the room and allowed the trap door to close softly behind him. He approached Hermione's bed, and looked down at her. She stared back up at him sleepily.

They did not exchange any words then, only their eye contact. At first, Hermione was fine with this, until, for some reason, her thoughts changed.

It occurred to her right then, exactly what was happening though she hadn't realised it before. He was there, in her room, next to her bed, looking at her. It sounded like nothing in the context of words, but being there, in that moment, was so much more than that. Something that had seemed at first to be so casual was now not.

"You're so beautiful." he said quietly after the silence that had stretched on for almost too long.

Hermione couldn't reply. She'd been waiting anxiously and with great trepidation for a moment like this for over a year. But now that it was happening it was almost like she couldn't muster the energy to be concerned or panicked. The look in his eyes was so tender, so warm, that to react with anything other than love and peace seemed alien.

Without really thinking, Hermione laughed, a loud giggle that bubbled up her throat and burst from her mouth in one breath. She found the whole situation hilarious, that she was now so contented to hear those words and see that expression on his face when only hours earlier she'd been wringing her hands and fretting over the mere idea of them.

Ron did not seem offended by her laughter, he just grinned happily down at her.

After a moment, she sobered a little, her mind beginning to grasp at things to say in response.

But he anticipated her reaction. "You don't need to say anything. I know that the idea of us scares you. And we don't need to do anything right away. I just needed to say that and it felt like the right time was now."

"What about Claire?" Hermione asked, though it was more for something to say than any real need for closure.

Ron looked momentarily confused. "She's gone back to Australia, you know that…"

"But aren't you two…?" her question did not need finishing. In all the time that had passed since she'd met the girl a year ago, Hermione had never once asked Ron about their relationship. This was partly out of guilt, knowing that she had dabbled in romance with someone else too; and partly out of the fact that she strongly felt like it was none of her business. But now that he'd brought up the word 'relationship' again, it felt right that she knew now.

Ron sank down to sit on the bed next to her, though not touching her. "We were. For a bit. But she always knew how I felt about you and she was ok with that. We talked about it. She was in love with someone else too and what we had was just a means to an end really. She cares about me and I care about her, that's why she wanted to help find Nina and Barry. She's a very decent woman."

Hermione nodded, feeling a little like a weight had been lifted off her chest. Though the confirmation that another woman had touched Ron, likely taken his virginity, made her heart contract a little.

"And what about you and Draco?" Ron asked tightly after a few moments.

She was almost ready to give her usual automated answer to this question before she remembered the conversation she was actually engaged in. Being evasive now would only do more damage.

She took a deep breath, "Well… I'm not going to tell you I feel nothing and it's all over for me, Ron… I really cared about him and I'm still hurt about what happened. But that doesn't really stop anything I might feel for you. In fact, to me, the two issues are wholly separate. I… I love you both. But in very different ways." Ron looked pained at this, and Hermione didn't really know what to say to sooth any bad feelings he might be having. But she ploughed on regardless, "We're never going to happen. I can promise you that. The relationship has ended, it's gone. And even if the feelings haven't, they will in time. I can tell you that I feel less now than I did a year ago."

She realised as she said this, that it was true. She'd been telling herself for months that she'd open up when the feelings were less painful, never noticing that they _were _losing their jagged edge as time dragged on. This buoyed her a little, especially since there'd been a little part of her that believed she'd suffer forever. And here she finally had the solid evidence that she would not.

Ron took a breath and smiled, "Alright, well, I trust you. So if you say it's nothing to worry about then that's good enough for me."

"So where do we go from here?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"Where would you like to go?" he responded.

"I don't want to share a room yet…"

"Neither do I."

"And I'm not sure we should go announcing it to the world."

Ron chuckled. "No thanks, I don't think I could handle mum's screaming."

"I don't want to start… having sex yet either."

He smiled, "Disappointing but understandable… Can I have a kiss though?"

Hermione felt herself grinning. He was so cheeky. After a moment of quick thought as she tried to decide whether or not she actually _wanted _to kiss anyone, a voice in the back of her mind said, 'fuck it' and she nodded.

Ron grinned and leant down towards her, the calluses of his fingers tickling her skin as he laid his hand on her cheek. For a moment, his breath was hot on her face, filling her with all those old memories, all the old sensations. The smell of it was so familiar to her that she almost couldn't believe it had been over two years since she'd kissed him.

When their lips finally met after what felt like hours of build up, Hermione experienced an unequivocal and overwhelming feeling of relief, as if she'd been travelling for such a long time and finally, mercifully, she was home.

* * *

The garden was crowded when the pair finally descended through the house to join their friends. The entire tovarasi were gathered, as well as most of the Weasleys such as Percy, George and Bill and Fleur. Dean was there, without Luna of course and Hermione was glad that he was acting a part of the tovarasi in his girlfriend's stead. Bo, Isobel's girlfriend, had joined them too, standing slightly off to the side with her hand nestled in the younger girl's fingers.

It was already a merry gathering despite being so early in the evening, but Hermione felt suddenly exposed when she walked out to the garden, bedecked with little lights and sporting three long tables to seat all the guests. After the conversation with Ron, she felt self conscious, as if everyone could tell what had passed. She didn't really know why this bothered her but regardless, she felt like a naughty child who'd been stealing sweets and was scared of getting caught.

Hermione was almost immediately pulled into a conversation with Bo, Isobel and Juliet, the three girls tittering jovially about Isobel's new job. But Hermione was only half listening. The part of her mind that was not occupied by the conversation told her to seek out Draco. And this she did. As the girls talked around her, she spent some time simply watching him, covertly of course, just because she wanted to see what it felt like given everything that had happened that evening.

Strangely, it felt fine, normal. Perhaps even a little better than it had that afternoon.

A part of her hurt, only a tiny part mind you, was disintegrating. She felt like she was turning a corner in a way, that through her acceptance of Ron and the relationship they could have, she was also accepting Draco and the relationship that would never happen.

Draco caught her eye then, and it was the expression on his face that really solidified this feeling in her heart. He smiled, and it was a smile full of friendship and respect. And that was enough for her. That was enough to end it once and for all.

It was Juliet who broke Hermione out of her reverie then when she leant in close to her three companions and asked, "So any idea what this is a about?"

"Huh?" said Hermione as she caught Isobel giving her a wry and knowing smile that made Hermione want to hit her.

"This dinner." explained Juliet, "Why has Ginny called us all here?"

"I thought it was just for the fun of it. We haven't all been together like this in a while…" Hermione shrugged.

"Mmm," Juliet's tone was doubtful, "I thought so too… But now that I'm here, I feel like there might be something more to it. There's a tense kind of vibe."

Isobel snorted playfully, "A vibe, Jules?"

The younger girl giggled, "Shut up! You know what I mean…"

"Well I guess we'll find out soon enough." Bo put in, her eyes drifting over the assembled crowd.

After about half an hour, the group settled down at the tables to eat the sumptuous feast Molly and Nina had prepared. Conversation flowed freely through the air, filling the garden with laughter and chatter.

Hermione sat between Isobel and Blaise who spent most of the meal talking over her about wizarding laws against the importation of foreign wand materials. Again, Hermione wasn't listening. She was seated across from Ron and found that she could not bring herself to look away from him. And he appeared to be having the same problem. Their eyes barely broke contact throughout the duration of the meal.

And Isobel kept giving Hermione those annoying, knowing looks.

It was like she was seeing him in this new light now, like he'd taken on a different shade in his aura. Where her feelings had been all tightness and fear around him before, they were now acceptance and happiness. The realisation hit her then that what she'd really been scared of was the waiting; it was the tension that killed her. She hadn't known what to think of him because he hadn't defined it and that was exactly what Maya had been trying to warn her against all along. She should have allowed herself to just be with her own feelings, not worrying about how he looked at her but accepting that what she felt was what she felt. And she would continue to feel it regardless of his motives, just like it was with Draco.

This was the wonderful acceptance she treasured so much now, the acceptance that only came around every now and then to make her world a little brighter. She couldn't cultivate it all the time, she was only human after all, but it did allow her to see the nicer things around her when it did come along.

Things like the feeling of her dress tickling the tops of her feet, or the sun on her shoulders. Things like the beautiful hum that came from Harry's goblet when he tapped it with his knife a moment later or the way the little lights that peppered the garden glinted off Ginny's red hair when she stood up next to her partner.

Harry took a deep breath, a smile that glowed brightly adorning his face. "Oi oi!" he cried over the chatter crowd of his family and friends, "Pipe down! Ginny and I have something to tell you all…"

Hermione cast her eyes around the table, noticing Ron grinning from ear to ear as he looked up at Harry, and Molly moving to sit on the very edge of her seat, an expression of frantic anticipation on her face.

She turned her head to look back up at Ginny and Harry as the Boy Who Lived wrapped an arm around the younger girl's shoulders and cleared his throat.

Hermione grinned.


	2. The Year Hermione Met Her Master

A/N Before we go on with this chapter, I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge the passing of Richard Griffiths who died on March 28th 2013, from complications following heart surgery.

For those of you who don't know, this wonderful, cynical and vastly intelligent man brought to life one of the characters we loved to hate in the Harry Potter series: Vernon Dursley.

I remember the first time I watched a Harry Potter movie, thinking to myself even at such a young age, that nobody could have played Harry's odious uncle better that Richard. He captured the character perfectly and became the epitome of everything Vernon even from his first line and the way he used to growl 'boy' at Harry.

So let's take a moment to just send some love and light to wherever he is now and recognize the part he played in making the wonderful world we all love so much a reality that we could participate in.

Thanks Richard.

Xx

Desdemona

* * *

2.

THE YEAR HERMIONE MET HER MASTER

_November 23__rd__, 2002._

Hermione's hands were shaking. She couldn't stop them shaking, they just sat there in her lap, quaking uncontrollably. And looking at them, seeing this physical embodiment of her distress was only making her feel worse.

"I can't do this!" she told Ron emphatically who was kneeling in front of her, his hands on her knees and a look of deep concern covering his face. There was a desperate edge to her voice.

"Hermione, breathe, alright? You'll be fine! She's going to love you! I promise!" he insisted.

She pushed his hands off her legs and leapt off her bed to go and stand by the full length mirror that sat in her attic bedroom. She was wearing a pencil skirt and clean, crisp white shirt. Nondescript, plain, businesslike. She hated it, hated all of it. The shirt didn't sit right, the skirt was too tight, making her thighs and ass stand out too much. Why hadn't she seen that when she'd been in the shop buying them weeks ago? Why wasn't she able to tell how hideous they looked on her? Why had nobody told her?

Her shaking hands tried to smooth her clothes down frantically, but it only served to make it worse in her eyes.

Ron appeared behind her and wrapped his arms around her quaking body, grasping her hands tightly. She tried to push him off but he would not allow it.

"Just be." he urged firmly, his voice reverberating into her ear, "Don't push me away, just _be_."

His arms felt like a cage around her torso, locking her in, she couldn't move. It made her panic more at first until she did as he asked and took a few deep breaths, the sound ragged in her throat. His scent, all that earth and smoke, filled her nostrils and she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to get lost in it. This was her home now, that smell. It didn't matter where she was now, if she had a panic attack, she need only sink herself into Ron's personal space, into the bubble of that scent, and for a minute she felt safe.

"Now tell me what you're doing." he said calmly, his eyes locked on hers in the mirror.

"I'm about to have a panic attack." she responded, recognising the exercise she'd taught him at Maya's behest.

"No you're not."

"I _am _having a panic attack." she amended and already she felt calmer. It always helped to just say it and get it out there. Of course, it never made it go away entirely, just calmed it a bit. "I don't feel right in these clothes, Ron. It's not me!"

"I know babe. But this is your first day and you have to make a good impression. You said it yourself; soon you'll be able to wear your own clothes. Just not today, right?" his voice was kind, soothing.

"Right." she sighed.

His fingers intertwined with hers as his arms relaxed around her body, allowing her to move freely. He pulled her towards the bed again and she sat down, watching as he knelt down in front of her, dragging a plastic bag across the floor. From it, he pulled a pair of brand new, shiny black stilettos. With one tug, he ripped off the tag and then proceeded to delicately push them onto her stockinged feet. She watched all this with an air of detached affection, quietly loving how intimate he was.

The rest of her mind however was still roiling away, throwing a ridiculous amount of useless, shaming words at her, reacting to her nervousness and apprehension.

This was to be her first day working for Dawn Fortescue, her new mentor, and the first time they would meet. The world renowned lawyer hadn't wanted to interview Hermione, simply telling Maya she didn't see the need. The only correspondence they'd had was the one letter Dawn had sent telling Hermione when she was to start, and Hermione's reply saying she'd be there.

Now, Hermione wanted to pitch herself out the window. Her new boss was supposed to be an eccentric woman, widely regarded as crazy but brilliant. It struck her that perhaps it was the unknown that was scaring her so much, the fact she had absolutely no idea what to expect when she entered Dawn's office.

At that moment, there was a tap on her trap door and seconds later, Isobel's head appeared.

"How are we doing?" the younger girl asked, climbing the stairs into the room and closing the hatch behind her.

"Fucking brilliantly." Hermione answered with just a touch of hysteria.

"Hermione's a bit nervous." Ron supplied with a weak smile.

"Alright then." said Isobel briskly, walking purposely over to the bed, her heels clacking on the wooden floor. Isobel, of course, looked like a supermodel in her work clothes, a high waisted skirt paired with a satin blouse and a black vest, her blonde hair cascading perfectly over her shoulders. "Stand up." she ordered. Hermione obeyed.

The following ten minutes were occupied by Isobel fussing over Hermione's hair and even making a few adjustments to the shirt with her wand so that Hermione looked less like she was sporting shoulder pads.

When she was done, Hermione did feel marginally better about how she looked. But that only made her nervousness fuss over something else entirely.

"What if I say the wrong thing or trip or something? What if I make a fool of myself?" she begged of her friend as Ron slumped down onto the bed.

"For fucks sake." Isobel responded harshly, with a roll of her eyes. "You're Hermione fucking Granger! Nobody gives a shit if you trip or say something wrong! Pull yourself together. You're perfect for this job. I know it, Ron knows it, hell even Dawn knows it or she wouldn't have hired you! And I think you know it too! How did people respond when you first told them this was what you wanted to do? Huh? Did anyone say, "Oh, you've got your work cut out for you" or "Good luck with that"? No! Everyone just fucking accepted it because they know you don't need luck! You could do this shit with your eyes closed! Alright?!"

Hermione gave a shaky chuckle as Isobel stared at her, her face full of sincerity and seriousness. "Alright."

"I want you to do something for me." the younger woman continued, placing her hands on Hermione's shoulders, "Every time you feel ready to give up today, every time you think you've made a tit of yourself, I want you to remember that day you came to Defence class covered in scratches and howling in agony. I want you to think of the day you forgot to take the Rusine, and what it cost you to get to Hogwarts. Ok? And don't give me any of this panic attack shit either. You hold that memory like a shield against anything that makes you feel bad. Because ultimately, it just goes to show that you've already achieved something far greater than working for Dawn Fortescue."

Hermione nodded, feeling a grin spread across her face at her best friend's passion. She pulled Isobel into a hug and said, "If Ron weren't here, I'd kiss you right now. Thank you."

"Hey, don't mind me." her boyfriend piped up from the bed. Isobel rolled her eyes and Hermione laughed.

"Come on, come down stairs, everyone's waiting." said Isobel after a moment, tugging tellingly on Hermione's hand.

"Wait, what do you mean 'everyone'?" Hermione asked warily.

"The tovarasi." Isobel responded as if Hermione was being thick, "Well, not all of them, just Ginny, Blaise, Harry, Padma and Draco."

"Why?!"

Isobel rolled her eyes again, "Because this is a big day! You're the last of us to go off to work! Even Eli's teaching potions now. It's only you left! We're celebrating."

And so, it was with great reluctance that Hermione allowed Isobel to drag her down stairs, with Ron tagging along behind. The moment she entered the vastly overcrowded kitchen, there was a cacophony of whoops and cheers and wolf whistles.

When she sat down, Molly pushed a plate of toast across the table towards her with a look that told Hermione that if she didn't eat it, she would not be allowed to leave the house.

She poured herself a mug of tea from the jug that sat in the middle of the table. She wanted to thank them for being there but in her nervousness, she felt unable to find the words. From her silence and pallid expression, the table's occupants must have cottoned on to her frayed emotions. Ginny, Blaise, her Dad and Harry all proceeded to give her a rousing four sided pep talk, not dissimilar to the one Isobel had given her moments earlier.

Hermione smiled at them through it, and said words of agreement in response but really she wanted to just sit, drink her tea and read the Daily Prophet. And eat her toast, obviously, or Molly would throttle her.

After a few minutes, it seemed she would finally be able to do just that as everybody began talking amongst themselves. Padma and Isobel were sitting at the other end of the table, giggling over some magazine that sat between them while Molly and Hermione's parents had disappeared in order to begin their business for the day.

Hermione dragged the paper across the table towards her and unfolded it to read the first page. It bore the headline: _DEATH EATERS TO BE REHABILITATED?_

She frowned. Her eyes immediately fell on the article underneath and devoured its contents. Her frown deepened as she read.

The article detailed how the Ministry had decided to take some action against those Death Eaters that had been captured and sentenced to terms in Azkaban. This action meant that they would be forcefully exposed to various muggle technologies and information, like television and literature, in the hopes that they will come to believe those things to be normal and drop the prejudices they'd held their entire lives. The article said they would be 'encouraged' to take interest in muggle politics and ideologies as well.

While the premise was something Hermione agreed with, the idea of attempting to rehabilitate prisoners rather than just shove them in a cell and forget about them, the suggested action did not make all that much sense in her mind. Maybe it might have some success, after all it had worked with Draco's mother to some degree, but it didn't sound all that great to her. In fact, it sounded like a rather weak attempt on the Ministry's part to convince the public that they were still doing things to try and recover wizarding society from the war.

"Hey Harry, have you heard about this?" Hermione asked, pushing the paper across the table towards him with the headline facing up.

He nodded fervently. "Yep. I think it's a brilliant idea, don't you? They're actually talking about hiring muggleborns to come in and consult on it and everything."

"Uh…" Hermione responded with an air of disbelief. Harry really did sound like he was entirely behind this scheme. But she was somewhat offended by it. Especially the thought of them actually hiring muggleborns based entirely on the fact that they were muggleborn. It sounded too much like affirmative action to her…

She was not given the opportunity to voice any of these opinions however because Draco scoffed, "Really? Just because your pal Kingsley came up with it, it must be pure gold."

"I would have thought you of all people would get behind this Draco." said Ron honestly and without malice.

Draco shrugged. "I know these people. They're past rehabilitation. If it were up to me, they'd all be dead. Get them out of the way properly."

Harry grimaced. "That's pretty grim."

"I don't know that I agree entirely with Draco, but I think he's got a point." Blaise put in, dragging the paper towards him to read the article for himself. "I mean, you really think watching a bit of television and being forced to read a few muggle newspapers is going to stop these people being murderous lunatics, Harry? Something more has got to be done."

"Like what?" asked Ron.

Blaise shrugged. "Wouldn't have a clue. That's for the government to decide. We're not the government."

"No, we just carry out their laws." Draco said with a touch of bitterness.

Ron chuckled, "Saying you're an Auror is just a glorified way of telling people you're the Minister's muscle."

The three other men laughed before Harry said, "Hey, rather that than law, right Hermione? You guys are the ones who have to actually deal with this crap."

"Yeah, when the shit hits the fan with this ridiculous fucking idea, the Ministry's lawyers will be the ones who have to clean it all up." said Draco, grinning at her.

Hermione grinned back and said, "Thank god I'm not working for the Ministry then. I'll be the one defending the rich Death Eaters who want to sue the Minister for mistreatment after they've been forced to watch the BBC."

Their laughter rang around the room and Hermione put the matter from her mind as she finished her breakfast.

At a quarter to nine, she was finally able to escape the house. Ginny kissed Harry goodbye on the front step as he prepared to leave with the rest of them and Hermione watched as the sun caught the younger woman's shiny engagement ring. She couldn't help smiling. They were so cute together, even when she could hear them arguing from her attic bedroom about when they were going to set a date.

Harry and Ginny were the sort or couple who were cute even when they fought.

Together, her, Isobel, Draco, Blaise, Ron and Harry moved out of the Burrow's boundaries and apparated directly to London.

While Dawn's firm was not in the Ministry itself, it was only a street away and Isobel walked her there before heading over to her own place of work.

The two women shared a tight hug and Hermione received a few more words of encouragement from her friend before they parted.

The building that housed Dawn's office was intimidating to say the least. Though, that may have just been Hermione's perception of it. It was a converted townhouse, just like Maya's, and had a great, big oaken door at the front.

Hermione walked up the garden path, stealing herself against the inevitable and refusing to panic anymore. Her hands were still shaking just a little but she ignored them. They could shake all they wanted; she wasn't going to let them ruin this for her.

When she let herself in through the front door and reached the foyer, she found that there was no one there, no receptionist to greet her. But there were sounds filtering out of one of the offices adjacent to the room and it was towards this door that Hermione headed.

"Oh, bollocking fucking hell." a woman's voice proclaimed from inside, "Shitting shit it."

Hermione paused at hearing this, her hand poised at the door ready to knock. She could feel the fear and hysteria and desire to run fast and far, boiling away in the back of her mind as each new piece of information presented itself to her overall view of the situation. Behind that door was an unknown woman, swearing, in a house that Hermione was to call her new work place. How was she supposed to process that?

After a moment of listening to this mystery woman using some of the most colourful language Hermione had ever heard, she braced herself, swallowed her fear and knocked lightly, pushing the door open.

"Uh… hello?"

"Yes? Yes? What is it?" the voice demanded and when Hermione entered the office properly, she found a large woman, standing on a desk, trying to reach one of the many picture frames hanging around the walls with a long stick it looked like she'd retrieved from outside. The woman was rotund, with a black sharp cut bob of hair. But the most intriguing and strange part of the image in front of Hermione, was that the woman was not wearing a pant suit or high heels or a silk blouse. She was wearing fleece pyjamas, covered in what looked like frolicking Hippogriffs. Her clothes were not exactly what Hermione would have pictured seeing in a lawyer's office. Many long necklaces hung around her neck and large, eccentric looking rings adorned her fingers.

"I'm looking for Dawn Fortescue?" Hermione responded in a voice that she hoped didn't sound as bewildered as she felt.

The woman turned and gave Hermione a long, critical look over the rim of her square rimmed glasses. "Well. You've found her."

Hermione gaped unattractively, though luckily Dawn had turned back around to continue swearing at the picture frame so she didn't notice. Never in a million years would Hermione have guessed that this vulgar, fleece clad woman who swore like a sailor was also one of the most prestigious and respected lawyers in wizarding Britain.

"Oh. Um. I'm Hermione Granger, I was supposed to start work today…" her words were halting and stumbling but she could not help feeling completely out of her element. If the swearing and the empty foyer were hard to process, this was impossible. Hermione had the strangest desire to just collapse onto the wooden floor and howl like a child. She wanted to scream and kick her feet, though, obviously, this may not have been the best first impression to give her new boss so she wisely refrained.

"Yes, yes. I know that." Dawn turned around again, still standing on the desk, her hands landing on her large hips, "I had a cat named Hermione once. Queer little thing. Used to run into walls until eventually its face became so squashed I couldn't tell which end was which." she said vaguely.

Hermione giggled uncertainly and couldn't help wondering what the fuck was going on.

Dawn stared for a moment up at the frame she had been trying to reach and sighed. "I never was a dab hand at charms. Can't do a levitation spell to save my life."

"Would you… uh… like some help?"

"Oh! That would be splendid. I'd just like to cheat it to the left a little. I can't stand when they're crooked."

Hermione moved further into the office as Dawn clamoured down off the desk, covertly looking around as she did so. The room had a high ceiling from which hung a rather overlarge crystal chandelier and was cluttered with oddments and trinkets. The walls were lined with shelves, some sporting books and others covered by cupboards. Sculptures and strange devices occupied the spaces that books did not. The stretches of wall which were not concealed behind the shelves were cluttered with paintings, frames awards and photos. It reminded Hermione a lot of what Albus Dumbledore's office had looked like before he'd died. Except, this room was far more eccentric and far more interesting.

The older woman watched as Hermione brought her consciousness back to the taste at hand, levitated the stick and straightened the frame obediently.

"Very good. You'll prove useful I think." said Dawn briskly, taking a seat behind her desk.

Hermione dearly hoped she would be put to more use than just straightening frames.

Once she had finished and Dawn had gestured for her to sit, the older woman rested a head on her fist and said, "Now. Let me get a look at you." Hermione resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably as, for a few nerve wracking moments, Dawn's eyes wandered freely over her clothes and tightly bound hair, eventually reaching Hermione's face. "Well, for starters, you need to go home and change."

"I'm sorry?" Hermione spluttered, her eyes wide.

"You need to change." Dawn repeated indifferently. "I can tell just by looking at you that you're not at all comfortable. I think I'd rather gouge my eyes out with rusty teaspoons than wear shoes like that myself. You only need to wear that sort of dross in the courtroom. And even then they stop giving a shit once you've established yourself good and proper. No, I want you comfy when you're working in my office. Can't have you breaking an ankle now can we?"

The older woman stood up abruptly and shot around the other side of her desk, making Hermione jump.

"Actually I do think I might have just the thing… Save you another trip." said Dawn nonchalantly as she began rummaging through a large, heavily carven, wooden cabinet that took op the entire western side of the room. All Hermione could see was her round bottom as the woman's head disappeared into one of the cupboards. Moments later, she rematerialised and pitched a wad of fabric into Hermione's lap. "There. That should do."

Hermione held the thing up in front of her nervously, discovering that it was an incredibly baggy quidditch jersey that looked like it would almost fall down to her knees. She stared at it blindly for a moment.

"You want me to wear this?" there was no hint of superficiality in her tone; she genuinely wanted to know what this strange, eccentric lawyer wanted of her. Dawn nodded.

Hermione felt herself beginning to smile. If there was ever a turning point in her life then, strangely, this was it. She could deny the jersey and insist on wearing the uncomfortable clothes she'd arrived in or she could join her new mentor in eccentricity.

"You can change behind that screen." said Dawn, pointing towards the back of the room where an intricately painted screen sat near the wall. As Hermione stood and began to walk towards the screen, the jersey clutched in her hand, she had an odd thought that she was crossing over to the dark side. Dawn tactfully began reading a paper on her desk as Hermione disappeared behind the divider and stripped down to her bra and underwear and slipped the jersey over her head.

"Done." she said with a hint of pride, re-emerging. For some reason it felt like she'd achieved something, and when Dawn looked up at her, seeing her out of her stiff office clothes, Hermione knew she had. The older woman smiled at her, a wide, toothy smile that was the first Hermione had yet received.

"Very good! You look much more comfortable now!"

"I _feel _more comfortable." said Hermione with shy relief. It had been all she could do not to let out a sigh of pleasure when she pulled off her stilettos and constricting stockings. "But what if someone sees me, though?" Hermione asked bashfully.

"Oh, no one will see you pet." Dawn replied with a wave of her hand, "We have to get to know each other, don't we? I've made sure our day is entirely free so we will not be interrupted. Except for the delivery boy who will bring us our lunch. But he's used to me now. He won't mind."

Hermione nodded in understanding, realising this must be the reason Dawn had decided to come to work in her pyjamas. She couldn't help smiling at this new development and, though she was still slightly nervous about her performance, it made her feel better that Dawn was not one of those people of influence who try and pretend they're not human. She seemed to embrace it actually. Hermione liked that about her. She felt like it would be easier to become familiar and comfortable with her new mentor if she was allowed to be herself and didn't have to pretend she was the kind of woman who liked wearing makeup and high heels.

She resolved to be as authentic as she possibly could over the course of the day. She had the feeling that if there was anything that would insure she got this job, it would be her ability to be genuine. Her ability to be real about herself and say what was on her mind.

Hermione resumed her seat opposite Dawn.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?" asked the older woman politely.

"Yes please, but I'll make it." Hermione gushed happily, jumping up to approach the tea tray beside the desk. "How do you take it?"

Dawn smiled wryly, "You're not my PA Hermione, I am quite capable of making my own tea."

"I know. But it's my thing. I always make the tea."Hermione responded, dropping three sugar cubes into her own cup and strangely thinking of Draco.

"Alright then. If you must. But very few have succeeded in perfecting my tea. I take three sugars and, most importantly, half water and half milk."

Hermione beamed. "I think I can manage that." She then proceeded to make two identical cups of tea, both over sweet and warm rather than scoldingly hot.

Dawn watched her, a smile spreading across her face as she noticed too that their tastes coincided. "I think we're going to get along splendidly."

Hours later, the two women sat across from one another, sipping what must have been somewhere between their fifteenth and twentieth cups of tea. Hermione found herself to be becoming more and more aware she was in the presence of a lawyer as the time passed. Dawn fired question after question at Hermione, ranging from personal things, like what her experience of the war was; to commonplace things, like whether or not she liked caramel flavoured ice cream; to professional things, like what her owl scores were like. And she hadn't relented. It seemed she had endless questions and she didn't mind what kind of answers Hermione gave. Sometimes they were short, sometimes they were single words, and sometimes they were long monologues. Dawn listened patiently to every single one.

Hermione did not feel in the least bit uncomfortable, even about the personal questions. The rapid nature of the way Dawn was firing off her inquires made it easy for Hermione to be honest, she didn't have to think properly about what she was saying, did not need to let the hard stuff touch her heart, before she had to answer the next question. Dawn was obviously aware of what she was doing and Hermione liked her more for it.

"Did you ever have any desire to become an Animagus?" asked Dawn at around midday.

"Yes, and I knew I had the talent for it, but I never felt I had the time to achieve it." Hermione answered.

Dawn nodded before moving briskly on. "What kind of relationship do you have with your father?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side, thinking. "A fairly open one I think. He's a very human kind of man, I mean, I can see that within him. I think so many children idolise their parents and are quick to resentment when they fail at parenting, never being able to see that their parents are people too, just as capable of mistakes. I don't think I ever felt that way about Dad. He was always a man in his own right, not just my Dad." she sighed, "I don't know that I could say we talk about _everything_. We used to, when I was younger, but then I think he got kind of shy when I started being a woman and not a little girl. Everything I had to say was more real, more confronting. We're still close though, we still connect… With music mostly. We like the same stuff."

"Good. What do you think would be one of your worst qualities?"

"Um… I do other people's thinking for them. I assume too much when I could just ask." she answered instantly. _That _was certainly a flaw of hers that could be seen from space and she knew it.

Dawn continued, "Do you think convicted Death Eaters should be given a chance at rehabilitation?"

Hermione felt a little shocked that her new mentor had hit on something so fresh for her seeing as she'd only been discussing it with Harry, Ron, Blaise and Draco that morning. Now, she'd finally be able to express her opinion. "Yes. Definitely. I don't know that I think the ministry is going about it the right way though. I kind of feel like they're just pandering to the public in a way. I think something a little more permanent and educational should be done. Like…" she frowned in thought for a moment, thinking, "Like a program modelled after the sorts of things muggles offer to recovering addicts. I think it would be more suitable and glean more positive results. They don't need to be forced to change their views; they need to be taught differently. Or offered an alternative that they might not have considered before."

Dawn looked impressed, her eye brows disappearing into her fringe. She pulled a quill and ink bottle towards her across the desk and made a note Hermione could not read on a piece of parchment in front of her. "I very much like the sound of that idea, and I think we'll have to talk about it in more detail later. I'm intrigued." Hermione beamed happily before Dawn set the quill down and looked back up at her seriously. "Now. Tell me about the moment you decided you wanted to become a lawyer."

Hermione knew the moment she spoke of without even really needing to think about it, the moment she'd made the decision, the moment she'd first had the desire. "I was standing in my kitchen about three years ago and I'd just had… I don't know. A sort of spiritual and sexual experience with… with this guy. And his mother was, I mean, she still _is_ in Azkaban. I never really thought she deserved to be there though. She… she was there because of me sort of. And I thought I should be in a position to be able to help one day, even if it wasn't her, at least someone…" her voice trailed off. She could remember that night clear as anything. It had seemed so inconsequential in that moment, all the thoughts she was having, given what had happened before and then what happened afterwards. The idea of becoming a lawyer had taken root then though, and it had never left.

There was a clanging of bells suddenly and Dawn got up to answer the door to the delivery guy who was bringing them their lunch.

In the silence that Hermione was left in, she began to think about that night, about the conversation that had followed her decision to become a lawyer…

_"Hermione?"_

_"Yes, Draco?"_

_ "I just... I just wanted to say... I'm sorry for calling you a mudblood." _

_ "Why are you saying sorry now?"_

_ "I just thought that... Seeing as we're... Doing what we're doing... You deserve an apology. So, I'm sorry. Actually, no. I'm not sorry for calling you a mudblood. I'm sorry I meant it. I wish... I wish there was some way you could understand that I didn't choose this life. I was just born into it. But I'm not going to pretend it didn't fit with me, that I didn't like it. I'm not going to pretend that I didn't hate you. I did. More than you can imagine. I guess I felt threatened by you. I'd always been told that being muggleborn made you... inferior, unrefined, dirty. But... You've never been any of those things. You're just as smart and logical as me and that just didn't fit with everything I'd been told, everything I believed. So I really meant it each and every time I called you mudblood."_

_ "I understand Draco. I get it."_

What did it all mean to him then? She wished she had some sort of device that could allow her to go back in time and see inside his head, see what he'd been thinking. That was the hardest part of all of it now, not really understanding why he did and said all of those things. She wished she could ask him, but bringing up that sort of conversation would only hurt them both, really. It was in the past, it was over, and she really was happy with Ron, in love with Ron.

There were two separate sides of her heart really, one side, that was a lot larger than the other, that felt totally head over heels with Ron. And then the smaller, slightly more pointy side, that loved Draco. She felt almost like she was betraying both of them by having those feelings. But then, she thought of the conversation she'd had with Isobel two years ago, standing up on the top of the hill by the Burrow, watching the sun rise.

_"It's just an ongoing extension of the love we have. And the love we have is just an extension of the love they have. It's circular. Do you know what I mean? I don't care who he's sleeping with. And I feel the same about Draco, I think. I know that a part of him cares for me. I'm good with that."_

_"I think that's a beautiful way to look at love Hermione."_

That philosophy lived on in her heart to this day. She didn't know if anyone was capable of loving more than one person, or if they were she didn't know whether or not that was right. But that's what was happening either way, justifiable or not.

And anyway, it was love, wasn't it? Love is good for the soul. Like she'd said then, it's circular, all connected. Every love she had was just an extension of the other. The fact that she was _with _Ron meant that she valued him more, but all the love was still there, all just the same, all just as relevant.

And it was ok. That was ok.

"What's going on in that little head of yours?" asked Dawn as she came bustling back into the room, carrying two bags that were giving off one of the most delicious scents Hermione had ever come across.

"Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the past. And the present. Thinking about love I guess." Hermione answered with a confused and weary grin.

"Ah. Love." Dawn chuckled. "Load of old wank, isn't it?"

Hermione giggled and nodded fervently, thinking privately that that was possibly the best way she'd ever heard it described.

Dawn sat back down behind her desk and, after sweeping aside some of the papers that were scattered there, began unpacking the food, which turned out to be a selection of rices and several types of curry. "So. Who are you in love with then?"

Hermione sighed. "Two men."

"Oh, I can't say no to a good love triangle! Who are the lucky guys?" asked Dawn with a look of glee that made Hermione laugh.

"Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy." she answered, surprised as soon as the words had come out of her mouth that she'd chosen to confide information to a woman she'd just met when she found it difficult even talking about it with Isobel.

Dawn let out an amused breath. "My, my. That is a tough one. A nationally famous war hero and a nationally famous Death Eater. Interesting. And you love them both?"

"I think so, yes." Hermione sighed sadly. "I'm with Ron though. And I'm happy with that. Draco and I are over. We're just friends now. But I can't help feeling guilty that I even have these feelings. I kind of think I shouldn't."

Dawn shrugged. "Hermione, you can't change how you feel. If you love them, love them and leave it at that. Give them your light and your passion. Don't ruin yourself by expecting anything in return, because men will always disappoint you in the end. Just enjoy the wonderful experience of loving someone. Because it _is_ wonderful."

"Have you ever been in love, Dawn?" Hermione asked, the first question she'd dared to direct at her mentor all day.

Dawn smiled fondly and waved an airy hand through the air. "Oh, many times. And every time it was like a beautiful sickness."

"How do you cure it?"

"Well… There's actually a wonderful little charm that will clear it right up. I can teach it to you if you like." said Dawn with a grin.

"Sure!" Hermione responded with a confused smile, pulling out her wand and wondering what kind of strange spell Dawn could teach her that could possibly cure the sickness of love.

"Just tap your wand twice on any hard surface and say, 'Inhorresco'. It's very simple."

Hermione obediently tapped it twice on the desk in front of her and repeated, "Inhorresco."

Her wand immediately began to vibrate violently and Hermione cackled. Yes. That would cure it.

There was no question of it, no doubt in her mind. Hermione _loved_ her new job, and she loved her new mentor. For once, she felt entirely undaunted about what the future held in this particular area of her life. She didn't know what it was, the open conversation, the fact that she felt like she could say pretty much anything to Dawn and it would be received with openness and acceptance, or that Dawn was sitting across from her in Hippogriff adorned pyjamas and had made her change just so she'd be equally comfortable. Hermione knew she'd be good at this. She knew she'd be happy.

* * *

That night, in her expansive attic bedroom, Hermione felt happiness swelling all through her body. She'd already occupied a pleasant half an hour wandering about her room moonily picking things up and putting them back down again after having dinner down stairs with some of her friends, her parents and the Weasleys. The dinner had been far less subdued than the breakfast she'd shared with them that morning as Hermione had loudly and enthusiastically repeated almost everything that had happened during the course of her day.

The response she received was largely supportive and happy, though Molly had insinuated once or twice that she thought Hermione's new mentor was a tad inappropriate. But Hermione didn't care. She loved Dawn's vulgarity. Loved that she was a tad inappropriate. It was what had made that lavishly and oddly decorated office feel like home in the space of a few short hours.

She hadn't even felt frightened when Dawn had stopped her at the door before they both went home and said, "Tomorrow, my wonderful little protégé, the real works begins."

When Hermione found she could not eat or talk any more, she'd retreated to her room to allow herself to feel her happiness sinking in. Thus, the past half hour had been largely productive. Even if from the outside it just looked like she was in a daze.

She was thinking of what Dawn had said earlier that day as she switched on her record player and pulled an old friend out of her stack of records.

_Enjoy the wonderful experience of loving someone. Because it _is _wonderful._

The record began to turn and the needle slid across the vinyl, a familiar, calming sound to her now.

"_I want to love you and treat you right,  
I want to love you every day and every night,  
We'll be together with a roof right over our heads,  
We'll share the shelter of my single bed._"

Hermione swayed on the spot, happy tears building in her eyes. She couldn't remember the last time she cried because she was happy. It felt special that it was happening in that moment.

The sound of her trap door creaking open crept up on her from behind but Hermione didn't turn. She knew who it was. And seconds later, his hands landed on her hips and the calming bubble of earth and smoke cocooned her senses.

"You're so perfect." he smiled into her ear.

Her hands clasped his as his arms wrapped around her and they began to sway together, her head falling back onto his chest.

"I think you're perfect too." she breathed happily.

He turned her around smoothly, his hands sticking to her waist and they danced. Hermione loved dancing with Ron. He had this way of moving, his body stayed low with hers, his hands scattering across every exposed part of her skin, and his eyes never left her, never strayed. They were always on her. On every part of her.

He kissed her, continuing to swing side to side, and she loved him when he did. Every time she was in his presence, it felt like all she was doing was yearning for him to kiss her. It wasn't a conscious thought, just something that kicked into the back of her mind. So when he did, she felt a little thrill, her stomach flipped a bit, because she was being given something she'd been craving, even if she hadn't realised it.

This time she realised. And it made her giggle.

The physical intimacy that Ron and Hermione shared was always full of laughter. She loved it like that. Compared to the dark intensity she'd shared with Draco, it was freeing, light, accepting, stunning.

Draco was a chaotic storm, beautiful but terrible. She'd loved watching the lightning crack across the sky, feeling the thunder roll through her bones, closing her eyes in bliss to the coolness of the heavy drops of rain falling on her upturned face.

But Ron was the sun and the warm breeze, the whisper of the leaves in the trees and the soft swishing of the grass on the plain. He was the dazzling brilliance of the sunrise and the soft finality of the sunset. He was the heat in her face, the heat in the pit of her stomach.

Draco could make her cry with the intensity of the orgasms he gave her, but Ron made gleeful laughter spill from her mouth.

He'd been offended and a little freaked out at first, the very first time they'd had sex, when she'd burst into peels of tinkling laughter as her orgasm hit. But then she'd explained it to him, she'd told him it was a happiness beyond comprehension. She felt like she was staring into the face of god.

And she felt like that now as she looked at him.

Both of them moved backwards towards the bed together, neither one driving their actions. They were in sync. And together, they lay down.

Hermione pulled off his shirt as he sunk down onto his back. Her mouth immediately fell onto his chest, her teeth sinking into one of his nipples. He moaned and chuckled in response. Her hands worked at his belt buckle and fly, and when she'd successfully unbuttoned him, he push his jeans and pants off, letting them crumple at the foot of her bed.

His nakedness was always so enjoyable. Hermione wanted to jump up and down and clap her hands every time she got to look at his bare body, all muscles and power. But of course, she was never given the opportunity to do this, he wanted her naked too.

Her clothes were taken off far less smoothly than his; he tore them from her body with an air of frantic, childish impatience and anticipation. Then, he devoted himself to the task of kissing every inch of her body. Hermione laid back and enjoyed it as she always did. She didn't have much of a choice really, even if she'd wanted to fight him off, her body would not have allowed it. The moment his tongue moved anywhere near the apex of her thighs, it went into total melt down. She couldn't have moved even if she wanted to.

He was on his knees, his hands hooking behind her legs and pushing them into the air, hooking them over his shoulders. Then, he dove and she lost her mind to bliss as his tongue flicked over her clit with a skill that was certainly inhuman. His fingers drove into her as he did this, making the feeling overwhelmingly complete. It was the purest form of stimulation.

It was some minutes before he allowed her to return the favour. She'd never thought she'd like giving head until she'd sucked Ron's cock. It felt unequivocally right and snug in her mouth, like she and he were purpose built to fit with each other like that. And turning him on, turned her on too. The way his hand sat on the back of her head, occasionally pushing down just a little, testing her, the way he growled and the way she could see his free hand curling and uncurling beside her, just made her want to punch a wall with the intensity of her emotions.

Then, there came the fucking. This time, he pushed her onto her stomach, pulling her ass up into the air, planting one hand on the back of her neck while the other grasped the fold of her hip, slamming her backwards onto his cock in one smooth thrust. She made a sound that was half cackle, half moan.

They'd tried slow and tender, simple sex that was supposed to be affectionate and loving and peaceful, but she couldn't be like that with Ron. She wanted him to possess her, to show total dominance over her. And so the only way she could have him was if he pounded her. Hard.

And this he did, sending shockwaves up her spine, bruising her thighs with the force of his hip bones crushing into them. If they hadn't cast a permanent silencing charm on the room months ago, this would not have been possible. With every slamming, bone shaking thrust he quite literally pushed the sounds out of her throat.

Her hand snaked down between her legs. She knew he'd come soon and she wanted to come with him.

But he was too cheeky for her. When his hand suddenly moved off the back of her neck and she felt his thumb push into her ass, she was gone. Completely. He _always _did that. He knew it was her on switch, knew it would bring a chaotic, body shaking orgasm crashing over her within moments.

And this time was no different. Her fingers worked furiously over her clit as the shockwaves sung through her muscles. She jerked into her climax, her body crumpling in on itself, her legs clamping closed. But Ron wouldn't allow her to pull away. The idea that his thrusts could have gotten any more violent was incomprehensible. But they did. Exquisitely so. It lengthened her orgasm, making it something powerful and catastrophic.

When she came, hard and fast, when the peak hit, she laughed freely and the window by her bed cracked and disintegrated with the force of the magic that exploded from her. This made her laughter double and Ron's soon joined it. This had happened _many _times before.

But his drive did not slow. He continued his frantic, brutal pace making her feel like her bones were cracking, like her soul was splintering under his vicious force. She loved it. Every moment of it. Then he came, his loud, fierce growl of release crashing into her back along with his body.

They moved together for a moment then, the only time their sex was ever slow, a sort of calm, sleepy gyration as they both collected their voices and their breaths.

"I fucking love you." he said into her hair, gasping with the effort it took to breathe.

Hermione ground her ass against his pelvis, giggled and said, "I fucking love you too."

* * *

A/N Sorry for taking so long on this update guys! I got a little caught up with other fics lol.

Very much feeling the passion for After the Fall at the moment, so I'm hoping the next chapter/year will be up sooner.

xx

Desdemona


	3. The Year the Saviour Became the Husband

3.

THE YEAR THE SAVIOUR BECAME THE HUSBAND

_September 5__th__, 2003._

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together… for the best man."

Hermione watched as Ron stood up from the wedding table amidst polite applause, straightening his dress robes nervously and grinning down the table at her. She gave him an encouraging smile and nodded. Her shoes were too high, her cerulean dress was uncomfortably tight and her perfectly prepared hair kept falling into her eyes, but Hermione was happier than she'd ever been.

Ron cleared his throat, shifting from one foot to the other, and looking down at a scrap of parchment he held in his hand. "Hey everyone, I'd, uh, like to thank you all for being here today, especially those of you who knew I'd be saying a few words… It's very touching that you still decided to come. Cheers."

Laughter rippled through the crowd and Hermione giggled. She looked at Isobel who was sitting next to her and received an impressed nod. Hermione grinned in response. Only she knew how nervous Ron really was about this, how nervous he'd been for the past three weeks, trying to write this speech, trying to make it meaningful.

He continued, looking buoyed by the laughter, "I think Harry's just one of those guys who confuses everyone he's close to. Sorry mate. But you're the most arrogant git I've ever met… By the same token though, you're also the most humble. Now, I'm not great at compliments. But I reckon if anyone deserves a compliment, it's you. Not just because of everything you've done for all of us, the strength you've wielded like a weapon against our enemies, but also because you're just a top bloke.

"I wanna encourage everyone here to think about that for a sec. If there's anyone on the planet who deserves to have a good old fashioned tantrum, it's this guy. But he was never like that. I mean, sure he had his moments, but I've never once heard Harry say, 'I give up' or 'I can't do this'. I'm glad my sister gets to marry someone like that. Who'll stand by her even when shit gets hard. She deserves that. And anyway," Ron grinned wryly, "am I really alone in thinking she's been waiting long enough?"

A great cheer erupted from the crowd and Hermione stuck her fingers in her mouth to whistle loudly along with everyone else. Harry buried his head in his hands while Ginny smacked him playfully on the arm.

"I mean, how long did it take you mate? Four years? My little sister always was persistent, but even that's stretching it a bit." the crowd roared with laughter. Ron waited patiently for it to die down before his face turned solemn. "On a more serious note, I wanna say something to you Ginny… Look after him, yeah? I know that's mixing up the traditional gender roles a bit but whatever. He needs it sis. You know that. Look after him. Please."

He and Ginny shared a look for a moment and Hermione noted the tears in the younger woman's eyes. Ginny put a hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed hard, pulling his face to kiss her. It was such a tender moment, so full of pain and memory and love that she felt almost embarrassed watching its rawness.

Ron smiled warmly and raised his glass of champagne. "To the bride and groom!"

Hermione echoed him along with everyone else then joined in the applause.

Time was moving so quickly now, passing her by lightning fast, to the point that Hermione always felt like she was missing bits, important bits. Dawn worked her hard, she was at the office eighty percent of the time, and the other twenty, she was clinging desperately to her friendships, trying to keep them afloat. Stress was something that she was almost used to now. It came with the territory really. After all, her name was almost as well known as Dawn's in the legal world now, even though it had only been just over a year. Isobel had been right when she had said Hermione could that job with her eyes closed. She was brilliant at it.

But that night, over two years since Harry had first proposed, Hermione finally felt slowed, felt like the lightning pace of her life had been paused for just one night to watch this beautiful thing unfold.

The wedding was gorgeous, moving, everything that a wedding should have been and Hermione felt honoured to be involved. Even though she'd spent the better part of it pretending she wasn't crying like a child. Thankfully, she had not been burdened with the duty of being the maid of honour, that position had gone to Luna, but she was happy to stand at the altar with the couple as a bridesmaid along with Isobel, Susan, Padma and Juliet opposite Ron as Harry's best man and Blaise, George, Draco, Neville and Eli as his groomsmen.

All around her at the reception shone faces she knew, faces from her past and her present. Teodora, their old Defence teacher was there looking just the same as she always had, as were all the other teachers from their years at Hogwarts, Professor's McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Hagrid, who cried even more than Hermione through the service. What looked like the entire Auror department was there too, as well as several other Ministry employees and pretty much everyone who'd been at Hogwarts during Ginny and Harry's time there. It was a _large _wedding, to say the least, so big it needed to be moved out of the Burrow's back garden and up into one of the glowing golden fields nearby. But Hermione liked it better that way, up on a hill, looking out over the world.

Hermione stood as the wizard who'd presided over the wedding ordered everyone to their feet so that the dance floor could be cleared. Just as they had during Bill and Fleur's wedding over five years previously, the many tables rose into the air and drifted to the sides, leaving a wide open expanse of grass which swiftly covered itself with a gleaming golden dance floor. The walls of the marquee disappeared and a collective gasp filled the space as the sunset poured into the tent and shone over the assembled guests brilliantly.

Ginny and Harry timidly walked hand in hand into the empty space for the first dance as the guests gathered in a circle around them. Ron draped an arm around Hermione's shoulders as George and Juliet appeared at her side, accompanied by Blaise, Luna and Dean.

"Know what song they picked?" asked George quietly, with a look of wry trepidation.

"Not a clue." Ron replied, mirroring his brother's expression.

"It was all very hush hush." Luna put in. "Ginny wanted it to be a surprise."

"That doesn't sound very promising, knowing her tastes." George grinned.

The music began to swell from a stage close to the dance floor where a rather shabby looking band were playing and Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the laughter that was threatening to erupt from her at the song choice. Only Harry and Ginny would choose something so unbelievably cheesy and sentimental.

"_When you're close to tears remember,  
Some day it'll all be over,  
One day we're gonna get so high.  
And though it's darker than December,  
What's ahead is a different colour,  
One day we're gonna get so high…_"

"Hermione! Fucking hell!" Ron hissed in her ear, trying to hold on to his own laughter. "At least _try_ to hold it together!"

"Good lord…" said George with a groan. "It's _awful_!"

"Oh, I think it's sweet!" Juliet said giddily, tears building in her eyes as she watched the happy couple begin to sway across the dance floor.

"I'm just waiting for them to break out the rain machine and the white doves…" Blaise interjected.

"At least it isn't Celestina Warbeck." Hermione said dryly and the little group shared a giggle. The tovarasi had spent Christmas at the Weasley's a couple of times now, they knew what went down.

They fell silent then, to watch the happy couple.

Harry was just as bad a dancer as he always had been, but somehow, his clumsiness was paying off. As Hermione looked about at the crowd gathered around them, she could only see misty eyes and fond smiles. She caught Isobel looking at her across the dance floor and the younger woman rolled her eyes though Bo was standing beside her trying very hard to look unaffected and failing miserably.

"Fancy a dance?" Hermione heard Blaise ask Juliet.

She laughed, "What?!"

Blaise smiled winningly, "You're a bridesmaid, I'm a groomsman, it's only right."

Juliet rolled her eyes and allowed him to steer her out onto the dance floor. They were soon followed by Padma and Eli, George and Angelina Johnson, Molly and Arthur, Isobel and Bo and Hermione's parents Nina and Barry. The floor was filling with couples. Hermione watched Dean trying desperately to lead Luna in a fairly conformist dance, but the younger woman would not be contained, her arms waving vaguely through the air around her partner.

"Shall we?" Ron propositioned, placing his hand on the small of Hermione's back without waiting for an answer and pushing her forwards.

The two of them shared a giggle when Ron picked Hermione up to stand on his feet while they danced. She was so much smaller than him that it was effortless. He twirled them about, laughing as Hermione tried desperately to hold onto him.

Only when Hermione's parents passed them and her mum hissed good naturedly, "You two! This is the first dance! Show some respect!" did they stop.

After what felt like a lot longer than necessary, the band continued playing the same painful song with what appeared to be no intention of finishing any time soon. The singer was only just reaching his peak, it seemed.

"Holy hell," Hermione whispered to Ron hopelessly, "Will it ever end?!"

He craned his neck a little to catch a glimpse of Harry and Ginny who were still spinning about, making doe eyes at each other.

"Doesn't look like it. Don't worry, at our wedding the music will be much better." he grinned at her.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "At _our _wedding, Ronald?"

"What? You have some problem with marrying me?" he demanded wryly.

"Not as such, I suppose." Hermione responded airily, "Though… You'll have to stop clipping your toenails in my room if you ever want me to actually consent to being your wife."

"Oh really?! It's _your _room now, is it? How long exactly have I been living in there for free then? Should I start paying rent?" he said playfully.

"Well, I didn't want to bring it up…"

Ron laughed and pinched her ass suggestively, his voice lowering, "I pay my rent in other ways…"

Hermione pushed herself up onto her tip toes and kissed him before saying matter-of-factly, "I think I'd prefer the money."

Ron's eyes widened but before he could reply with a witty retort, Blaise and Juliet appeared beside them.

"Swap?" Blaise suggested with a grin, looking at Ron, "Conversation's dried out with this one."

Juliet smacked his arm playfully.

"Sure mate, but this one's pretty dead too." Ron replied sardonically, pecking Hermione on the cheek, pushing her towards Blaise and grabbing Juliet's hand.

Hermione watched Ron spin Juliet off and disappear into the crowd, before saying, "I missed you for coffee after last week's session."

Blaise took her hand and put his on her waist. "Yeah, had to work. But I'll be back next week, promise."

"Trouble at the Ministry?" Hermione asked innocently.

Blaise laughed, "Don't be coy, Hermione, you know exactly what's going on. We've had two pretty close shaves in the last month alone. It'll turn into full scale rioting soon."

"Are the prisoners not taking to the new regime too well?" she inquired timidly. She felt bad that Blaise, Harry, Draco, Bo and Ron were all being putting through so much stress just because of her.

"I'd say they're fucking furious to tell the truth. Group therapy isn't really Lucius Malfoy's cup of tea." he chuckled.

"No, I can't imagine it would be." she responded dryly. As far as she knew, Draco's father had been the one presenting the Aurors with the most resistance.

"You think it'll work though?" asked Blaise nervously after a moment.

She tilted her head and grimaced, "Well… we knew when we were drawing up the plans that it wouldn't go down well at first. But it'll get to them eventually. The muggles have been using trauma counselling on their prisoners for years. I'm horrified the Ministry has taken this long to catch up."

"The only reason it's happening at all is because of you and Dawn."

Hermione ducked her head modestly, "A lot of other people helped out too…"

"Yeah but without your idea Hermione, it wouldn't have happened. That's a pretty big achievement. You're changing people's lives. Own it."

She beamed. "Alright. I'll own it."

"Good." he grinned back at her.

They moved in silence for a moment as the lead singer launched into yet another chorus.

"_Cause we are gonna be,  
Forever you and me,  
You will always keep me  
Flying high in the sky of love._"

Hermione found herself imagining her own wedding then, a strange occurrence because, now that she thought about it, she'd never really seen herself as the marrying kind.

She wouldn't have quite as many people as Harry and Ginny had had, she knew that. But it would be at the Burrow. Molly certainly wouldn't have it any other way, and neither would Hermione. It was a beautiful part of the country.

As Ron had said too, the music would be much better. She'd play Nirvana and Bob Marley and Otis Redding and Ride. And maybe Celestina Warbeck, just to make Molly happy.

Was that what lay in her future though? Marriage? Children? A home? Hermione had been so wrapped up in her career lately that she hadn't even stopped to consider what might come next… But that was the natural progression of things wasn't it? She found herself thinking of what her home might look like, if she bought one with Ron, and what they'd call their children, how many they might have.

The most disturbing part of it though, was that she couldn't quite figure out how she felt about it all, couldn't tell if the butterflies that had suddenly invaded her stomach were fear or excitement.

"Do you think you'll ever get married Blaise?" she asked suddenly.

He shrugged, used to her random outbursts by then, "Nope. Not if I can help it. I'll die a bachelor."

She envied him for being so sure.

At that moment, the song finally ended and Hermione and Blaise stopped to cheer enthusiastically. The band looked taken aback by the positive response from the crowd, not realising that they were not receiving their standing ovation because they played well but because they had finally finished. They then struck up a more uplifting tone, playing poppy numbers rather than anything slow and romantic. It still wasn't great, but it was better than what they'd started with. Hermione spent the following four songs, happily dancing ridiculously with Blaise. It had quickly turned into a competition of sorts, to see who could make the other laugh with their moves.

Eventually though, she had to rest. With many apologies to her partner, she made her way over to one of the tables where she could see Ginny and her bridesmaids sitting, fanning themselves and drinking elf made wine.

"Oh my god… I can't dance anymore. I just can't." Hermione sighed, collapsing into a free chair.

"Ditto." Ginny responded weakly, taking a large gulp from her glass.

Susan pushed a flute into Hermione's hand. "You've got to taste this. It's fantastic."

Hermione grinned and took a sip, feeling the wine burn down her throat and into her stomach. It _was _fantastic.

"Look at them." Padma said suddenly, nodding over to the other side of the tent.

The girls collectively turned to follow her gaze. Hermione could see Harry standing there, just outside the marquee's boundaries with his groomsmen, Blaise, Draco, Neville, George, Eli and Ron. They were all laughing, holding glasses of wine.

"I'll be honest. I'd turn straight for any one of them." said Isobel cheekily, slurring only a little bit.

"Isobel!" cried Juliet, scandalised.

"Have you ever had sex with a man?" asked Luna, staring at Isobel with her usual intensity.

Isobel rolled her eyes. "Of course I have! But trust me, pussy tastes much sweeter."

Hermione cackled, along with the rest of the group. But she couldn't help agreeing with Isobel when it came to the boys. They certainly did make a pretty picture, all standing there looking slightly dishevelled, their cheeks glowing.

The girls fell back into conversation but Hermione did not join them immediately. She watched as Draco's eyes fell on the crowd of dancers. He grinned and winked at someone. She followed his gaze and noticed a pretty dark haired witch Hermione had never seen before smiling coyly back at him.

Eli must have noticed this because seconds later he elbowed Draco playfully and nodded towards the girl with a sly grin. Draco said something, shrugged and smiled deviously. She could see that the rest of the men had heard him because they immediately joined in ribbing Draco, laughing and slapping him on the back.

Something moved in Hermione's chest. She resolutely ignored it. Draco wasn't going to do this to her tonight. Just for tonight, she was not going to fall into that same awful feeling that always followed close contact with him. Luckily, this was the first time she'd even clapped eyes on him since the actual service itself.

Still, she couldn't help feeling just a little bit curious…

"Hey, Ginny?" Hermione asked, cutting across the group's conversation. "Who's that black haired woman dancing near Mum and Dad?"

Ginny craned her neck to catch a glimpse of her and said, "Astoria Greengrass. She's an archivist at the National Wizarding Library of Britain. Harry knows her through research for the department I think. She's nice. Why?"

"Draco just winked at her." Hermione answered without thinking. She'd been thrown by Ginny's words. _She's nice_.

Hermione caught the rest of the group exchanging wary glances and immediately felt stupid.

"I'm going to get some cake." she said hurriedly, seizing her glass of wine and standing up.

"They haven't served the cake yet, Hermione." Isobel's voice was low, serious, concerned.

"Well, I'm going to the bathroom then."

She did not wait for a response, simply pushed her way into the crowd, immediately losing herself among them.

For lack of anything better to do, Hermione decided to actually go to the bathroom. She could do with a moment by herself anyway.

She made off across the dance floor to the makeshift toilets that had been set up just outside the marquee. True to wizarding tradition, the inside of the tiny wooden outhouse was far more expansive and lavish.

Hermione locked the door behind her, sat down on the toilet and put her head in her hands, taking a few calming breaths.

She felt ridiculous, really ridiculous. She'd spent some time thinking about this eventuality already really, that Draco might sleep with someone else. Logically, he'd been single for three years, hadn't he? Of course he'd fucked other girls. He was Draco fucking Malfoy for god's sake. Hermione was not the only witch in the world who found him attractive. But she'd never actually seen evidence of it before.

It was all so pathetic. Why did she do this to herself? It had been the same feeling as with Ron all those years ago when they'd broken up. She'd thought he didn't love her and yet, she still felt all those things for him. It was an awful situation to be in. She'd felt pathetic then too.

If only she could just never see Draco again. Of course, over the years, it _had _become easier. The pain was nowhere near as bad as it once was and most of the time, she didn't notice it at all. She'd even gotten to the point where she was quite capable of happily being in his presence. But every now and then, something like this would happen and it was there all over again. Like last Christmas, when she'd received a beautiful locket from him as a gift. That had hurt. And then, just before a work dinner a couple of months ago when he'd popped round to see Harry, caught her just as she was leaving and told her she looked beautiful. She hadn't been able to concentrate for the rest of the evening.

But if he just went away and she never had to see him again, then she wouldn't have to deal with any of those situations, ever. It would be a weight off her mind.

Unfortunately though, Draco was good at his job and close friends with Harry, Ron and Blaise. So there was no hope of him just suddenly fucking off.

Hermione had to resign herself to the fact that he'd always be there.

She found herself thinking then, of what Maya would tell her to do in her present situation. The responsible thing, she realised, would be to go to him and very calmly tell him that she still found it occasionally painful to be around him, that it wasn't his fault and was entirely her responsibility, and to please be circumspect about the things he did and said.

And Hermione decided then and there that that was exactly what she _would _do. After the wedding obviously. Perhaps just before a session with Maya, so she'd be able to talk about it afterwards.

She was an adult now, after all, not a school girl who had tantrums. She'd talk to him. And it would be alright. She figured it was about time she actually did something constructive about it rather than just shaming herself all the time anyway.

Hermione stood up, feeling much better now that she'd resolved to fix the situation as best she could. And she couldn't hide in the bathrooms all night.

When she re-entered the party, Hermione was immediately accosted by Blaise who looked quite drunk.

"Hermione!" he cried jovially, draping an arm that held a bottle of firewhisky over her shoulder. "I haven't seen you in fuckin' hours!"

Hermione giggled, "Blaise, we were dancing together not twenty minutes ago."

"Best fuckin' dance of the night!" he cried.

"Well, I'm very flattered."

"D'you think I'm a good dancer?" he slurred.

"Of course I do! You're a splendid dancer Blaise."

"Hurrah! So're you. You're splendid all over the place, 'Mione. You're fuckin' amazing y'know that? I fuckin' love you." he said fondly.

Hermione couldn't help but roar with laughter at him. She'd never seen Blaise drunk before. He was absolutely adorable.

"Hey!" he said conspiratorially, suddenly leaning down close to her ear, "D'you think Jules would fuck me?"

Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth, giggling. Perhaps _not _so adorable. "No, sorry Blaise."

He looked only momentarily downhearted before his face lit up again, "Whaddabout Susan? She's fit."

"No, Blaise. Trust me, you don't want to go sleeping with _anyone _from the tovarasi. Shit gets weird."

"Too bad. I reckon Eli's into me." said Blaise with a sigh.

Hermione cackled. "Well, if you're up for that sort of thing, you should probably go find Charlie Weasley."

"Which one's he?" he asked, looking confused.

"The short muscley one. Lots of scars on his arms." Hermione responded. She knew Blaise well enough by now to know that though he liked people to think he was joking, he really wasn't. Blaise liked to shop around _every _corner. Men _and_ women. She admired him for it.

At that moment, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Would you like to dance?"

Hermione's heart jumped in her chest as her eyes flicked between Blaise and Draco. She certainly had not been expecting to come into contact with him again that night, wasn't at all prepared for it. What on earth could have inspired him to ask her to dance? In three years, he'd never so much as shook her hand!

Blaise looked suddenly much more sober than he had. His eyes were boring into Draco's face and Draco seemed at once aware of it, but also trying to pretend he wasn't. Hermione turned to Blaise.

"Do you mind…?"

Blaise shrugged and smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. For a moment, Hermione thought he seemed angry. "I don't." was all he said, before walking away.

Draco offered her his arm and led her out onto the dance floor.

Hermione knew the moment they started that it was a bad idea. The way he held her hand, the way his fingers pressed into her waist, it just all so familiar to her. And it seemed it was familiar to him too. The way he looked almost suggested that he felt like touching her entirely normal, something did every day. Only he didn't, did he? It was the first time in almost four years that he'd actually touched her, skin to skin. She had no idea how to take it, didn't know what to do other than sway awkwardly on the spot.

Her mind, as it always did, was betraying her. She was seeing two things at once; Draco standing in front of her, looking casually pleased, surrounded by other dancers… But then there was also a younger Draco, one who looked tortured, agonised, who's emotions were far more raw than she'd seen from him in a long time…

_He threw his arms up over his ears and shook his head violently, "Shut up! Just shut up!"_

_"__No, Malfoy! I will not!" she yelled, "You don't get to blame me for any of this! Do you understand?! I am not your scapegoat! Do you remember what Harry said to Voldemort right at the end? Remember? Try for some remorse, Tom. Well he never did, and he died, didn't he?! Your father didn't show remorse either and he never will! That's why he's in Azkaban and that's why he deserves to be there! Remorse is what makes us human! Your father may not have acted like he loved you, but I do! And I won't let you push me away!"_

Where was all this coming from? She hadn't thought about that night in years. Perhaps it was his scent crashing over her, she hadn't been close enough to catch more than a fleeting whiff in a long time. Now it was everywhere, in her nose, in her eyes, in her heart.

_The room rung with silence when she finished shouting, her last words almost visibly hanging in the air between them. The space felt strangely empty without both their voices clattering off the walls jarringly. Draco slowly moved his arms away from his head and looked at Hermione with what seemed at first to be unadulterated shock. But there was something else in the look. Desperation, hope and pain. She couldn't understand it._

Hermione tried desperately to cling onto her reality as the memory fell like a blanket over her senses. She accidentally stepped on Draco's foot in her distraction and his grunt of pain followed by his chuckle brought her back to the present.

"You're a very good dancer." she stuttered, her voice rasping. But really, he was, moving her to and fro with practiced ease.

Draco grinned, the look in his eyes speaking to her like they were nothing more than casual acquaintances, "And you're fucking terrible. Really."

_"__You love me?" he said quietly._

_Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth, realizing then what she had said. Draco grasped her shoulders and shook her violently._

Hermione laughed uncomfortably and made a desperate attempt at conversation to veil the thoughts behind her eyes. "Your mum's coming out of Azkaban soon, isn't she?"

Draco nodded firmly. "Yep, in about six months."

_"__You love me?!" he shouted, a manic, desperate look on his face._

_"__Draco, you're hurting me!" she cried, panicking a little at his use of force._

"That's uh… really good. And… and is she doing well?" she stuttered wildly.

"I think so. We're only allowed to write but she sounds like she's pretty stable. Excited to get out obviously." Draco shrugged, watching another couple float past them. This wasn't a conversation, not for Hermione, it was all a show. That's why he was there, wasn't he?

_"__DO YOU LOVE ME?!" he insisted urgently, his voice gratingly loud in her ears._

_"__Alright! Yes!" she yelled, trying to push him away._

Hermione nodded and smiled tightly, her eyes everywhere but his face. She was scared. Scared that if she looked at him, everyone else would disappear, and it would just be them on this empty dance floor. That she would only see him as she once did.

_"__Say it!" he demanded, his fingers digging into her skin painfully. "Say it, Hermione!"_

_Hermione yanked herself out of his grip and stepped away from him, breathing hard. He stared at her, his eyes pleading, the tears now pouring freely down his face._

All her hard won composure was flying out the window, all the maturity she'd found in the bathroom only moments before. She wanted to move her hands away from Draco, didn't want him to feel them shaking. But for some reason, when he looked at her then with an air of wry amusement, she got the feeling he already knew. She got the feeling he was actually completely aware of what she was going through.

_"__Please." he begged._

And she hated him then, hated him for not doing anything, for forcing the words out of her all those years ago, for sitting by while she rushed on ahead of him to bring down Voldemort, to save Harry, to get back with Ron. He'd just been quiet and still. Couldn't even say he loved her. But he could beg _her _to say it to _him_.

She realised then that he was still her lover, really. He was still the lover that never wrote and never kept promises. And now he was tormenting her like a lover. _On purpose_. Was he really that sick?

_Could she say it? Could she say those three words to Draco Malfoy? This little boy in front of her, broken, all his jagged pieces sticking into her skin, into her life. Was it worth it? After everything he'd said to her, all of those horrible, horrible things… But then what about the things he'd done? Saving her that day she forgot to take the Rusine? Pulling her from the lake? She realised then that exactly what he'd told her so long ago was true. What Teodora had said was true. Back then, she'd been the one to be claiming that she was a good person, but Draco had been showing it. And ever since, he'd been showing her that he loved her. Now, he needed her to show that she loved him too. He needed to hear her say it. And, she realised, she need to hear her say it too…_

Hermione wanted to push him off her and scream at him. She wanted to go and have a good, long shower just to wash the feeling of him away. She wanted to cry.

_"__I love you."_

It was too much. She couldn't do it. It made her hate herself but she just couldn't. Couldn't pretend like she was ok with any of this.

Hermione calmly disentangled herself from him, apologised politely and walked away through the crowd, out of the marquee and into the darkness of the night. She left the voices and the tent behind, finding herself walking in one definitive direction. The headstones were grey and almost gleaming in the moonlight. Fred's name shone up at her. As well as Tonks and Remus's…

Footsteps followed her. She hoped it was Ron. She could cry into his shoulder. She wouldn't tell him why…

"What are you doing?" asked Draco's voice, he sounded slightly amused, slightly exasperated.

She couldn't answer. If she answered, it would be with a sob. So instead, she shook her head, her eyes on the stones in front of her.

"Talk to me Hermione." a different tone then, loving, affectionate.

"I'm running." she said, her voice strangely dead and calm.

"From what?" he asked.

"From _you_, Draco."

"Why?" it changed again to amusement.

Her fingernails dug into her palms. The pain grounded her. "Because it hurts, alright? It fucking hurts." her voice was cracking. She tried to stop it. She couldn't. "You might have been able to… to… I don't know. Whatever you did… Forget about me. Just move on like that… You think… You couldn't say you loved me… And I don't… I don't…." and then, it became a sob. She knew she wasn't making sense, knew that he was probably confused. But she hadn't spoken about this properly with anyone, ever. It was like the words were old and dusty and in desperate need of oil to loosen the hinges.

"Hermione…" his voice was strained, disapproving, "You're with Ron. You can't say things like this to me. He's my friend…"

Hermione rounded on him, fire burning through her blood. "Do _not_ speak to me like I'm something that's happening to you, like I'm some event that's torturing you. You think I want this? Think I like it? I _hate _you. And you made me like that. You made me hate." she snarled.

"You know why I did what I did…"

"No I don't! How could I know? You never fucking _told _me! You just walked out like I was nothing! And now you think you can just sit here, telling me what I can and cannot say to you. I knew someone once, he looked a bit like you actually. Someone who didn't try to change my feelings, someone who just liked me as I was, no matter how broken. And I liked him too, I thought he was fucking brilliant. _Scars and all_. Scars and all, remember Draco?"

"Hermione…" like he was chastising a child who was playing.

But once she'd begun to talk, she couldn't stop. It had all been sitting in her heart for years. She needed it out, needed to purge herself of it. The tears fell freely from her eyes.

"I lost who I was for you. I gave you my faith, my trust, my _love_. And you gave me _nothing_. You threw it back in my face. I fought for you. And where were you when it came to the fight? Where were you Draco? You were fucking _silent_. And… and now you're asking me to dance and you're just fucking _there _all the time! You're at my family dinners, you're hanging out with my boyfriend, talking to my friends! You heartless fucking bastard! Did you ever think about me?"

She was starting to get to him, she could see it. He looked like he'd bitten off more than he could chew. "I… I thought you were ok… I thought you'd moved on…"

Hermione let out a loud, cynical laugh, "You thought I'd moved _on_?! What a spectacular assumption. Perhaps you should have asked."

"I'm sorry! Alright?" his voice rose slightly, frustrated, angry. Was it possible that she was actually succeeding to make him feel bad?

"Your words are _nothing_!" Hermione snarled, her voice rising in pitch. "They always were! You're so fucking broken."

"Hermione…" now _that _was a different tone, almost begging, pleading. Yes, she'd hit a nerve alright. She didn't know which one but she'd hit it. This wasn't a game anymore, not to him anyway.

The fight fell right out of her voice all at once. She was tired. "Just… just go away. _Please_. Every time I look at you my heart tears into strips. It breaks. It shatters. Just go away Draco."

And he did.

He turned on his heel and left.

Hermione hands curled around her abdomen, holding in all her organs. She couldn't understand why it still hurt so much. He'd just walked away again and though it wasn't as potent as it was the first time he'd done it all those years ago, it certainly burst open the stitches, certainly made the wound bleed again.

Was something at least changed now though? Had she achieved anything with her outburst? Could she talk about it now, like it was something in the past? Perhaps she'd gotten to him just a little, made him think more about his actions. Now that she thought about it really, the was not the first time she'd felt like Draco was baiting her. There was always a shadow of challenge in his eyes whenever he did or said something to her that was upsetting. He pretended not to be aware, but he was. He was doing it on purpose.

But why? Why would he want to hurt her like that? She was so thoroughly sick of being in pain, so over thinking about this shit, something needed to be different.

Three years she'd been with Ron now, she _needed _something to change.

Hermione raised her eyes to the sky and prayed. Prayed for it to shift. Prayed to whatever was up there to give her some respite.

After a few moments of this, she turned to look back at the marquee where the reception was still in full swing, only getting louder and louder the more time passed. But she could not go back in there, not yet. It was too fresh. She wasn't ready to plaster the fake smile on her face again just yet.

Hermione made her decision and turned left rather than back. She walked down the hill, pulling her heels off her feet as she did so. And then, she ran, the wind scattering her hair about her face, pushing all the tears away, not caring about her feet or the grass, not caring about her dress or her makeup.

Chest heaving with her breath, she seated herself in the Burrow's empty garden, the music and voices from the marquee up on the hill filtering down to her vaguely, carried on the wind. Tears came and went then came again as she sat there, time filtering past slowly as she allowed it to run soothingly over her frayed emotions like cool water over a burn.

No one came to find her. Not at first.

But, after a while, she heard footsteps rounding the house and cast a swift disillusionment charm over herself. She did not want to be seen yet and she certainly did not want to have to explain what she was doing there or why she looked like she'd been crying.

Harry and Blaise appeared around the corner of the Burrow, looking spectacular in their dress robes and far more sober than the last time she'd clapped eyes on them. They must have been coming to get something from the house. She remained silent and still.

Hermione was surprised when they stopped in the middle of the garden, as if waiting for something. They did not speak to each other.

Moments later, she discovered what it was and had to fight the groan of pain and disbelief that rose in her throat. She really, really, _really_ wanted to run. She'd rather chew glass than be sat on that bench, watching a conversation between those three.

"What's up, guys?" asked Draco nonchalantly.

"We want to talk to you." Harry's voice was _not _nonchalant.

Draco looked wary, "Oh, yeah?"

"You need to stop this shit with Hermione." Blaise was always one to get straight to the point.

Hermione's face fell in her hands. She was moved that they'd decided to do this for her, but just the fact that _everyone _clearly knew about her emotional problems made her was to, rather ironically, throw herself out of her fifth story window. Hadn't she done a better job at hiding all of it than that?

Draco laughed with an air of forced indifference, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do." Harry cut in quickly, "I've seen the way you look at her. She's fucked up over it, everyone knows that. Even Ron. And you know it too. Why don't you just back off, alright?"

Draco wisely recognised the underlying threat in Harry's words and then rather unwisely proceeded to get rather defensive. "Why don't you try minding your own business, Potter?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that shit, Draco. What are you trying to do? Drive her completely fucking crazy?"

Draco scoffed. "Like that wouldn't be hard to do."

Hermione, surprisingly, did not shed new tears over this statement. She was having a moment of blinding clarity, finally seeing Draco for what he really was in that moment. And what she saw was that he was far more broken than her. It was obvious, really, silly that she hadn't seen it before. Who'd been seeing a mind healer for the better part of three years? Who'd been spending two thirds of that time solidly working on herself?

What she hadn't realised before was that Draco was actually the crazy one now, not her. She'd given up that position the moment she'd started seeing Maya. But he was in exactly the same place he was three years ago.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that." Harry growled, snapping Hermione back to reality, "Look, I like you Draco. And I want you around. But not if you're going to fuck with my best mate."

A look of understanding crossed Draco's face then. "Ah. I see what this is about now. This is about Weasley, isn't it? Not Hermione. You're just fucked off because you've noticed the way _she _looks at _me_. Sorry Potter but I can't help her infatuation."

Hermione jumped as Harry's fist cleaved through the air and cracked brutally into Draco's nose. Draco stumbled backwards, clutching his face. She sort of wanted to cheer.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he demanded furiously.

Harry looked at Blaise. "Sorry."

Blaise shrugged. "If you hadn't, I would have." he looked back at their now bleeding friend, "You deserved it Draco."

Hermione could not help but agree.

"Fucking hell!" cried Draco, moving his hands away from his face to reveal his now slightly crooked and bloody nose, "Hermione's a big girl, alright? I can't change how she feels! What the fuck do you want me to do?!"

"Acknowledge that you fucked it! Own the fact that you treated her like shit! That you broke her heart! How about you try for some remorse, Draco!?" growled Blaise, pointing his finger at Draco's chest.

Draco looked like Blaise had hit him again.

"You can't keep walking around like nothing's happened. It might have been years ago, but you can't just pretend it didn't affect you, alright?" said Harry, making a visible effort to be calm. "She deserves more than that, Draco. For fucks sake, do you have any respect for her at all?"

"Of course I do!"

"Did you care about her?" asked Harry. Hermione's hands clutched the wooden seat under her.

Draco did not answer.

Harry went on, "I think you did. I think you still _do_ and it scares the shit out of you because she's too good for you. So you treat her like shit, give her nothing but your indifference because it makes you feel better about yourself."

Draco looked at Harry coldly, letting no emotion but disdain filter into his expression. "Again, Potter, what would you have me do?"

"Make up with her. Say you're sorry. Tell her you fucking cared about her at least." said Blaise.

"And what exactly will that achieve?" asked Draco unemotionally.

"It will make her feel better! Jesus Christ!" cried Harry, throwing his hands in the air, clearly exasperated by Draco acting the fool.

Hermione had had enough. She could not sit by and watch this any longer. And she wouldn't be able to sit by either and listen to Draco tell her he'd cared about her when she knew that he'd been told to do it. Harry and Blaise were very sweet for trying to help like that but Draco was right, she _was _a big girl now…

Hermione stood and walked towards the three men, waving her wand to disperse the disillusionment charm. When they caught sight of her, walking towards them across the grass, barefoot in her cerulean dress, they fell silent, their eyes widening.

"Come here, Draco." she said. Wordlessly, he complied. She pointed her wand at his nose and said, "Episkey." before conjuring a washcloth, drenching it in water from her wand and pressing it to his face. He took it from her silently. She stepped back.

"Harry, Blaise, I'm really touched that you would stand up for me like this. Touched that you've been looking out for me, that you noticed something was wrong even though I never said a word. Though I'm sorry you felt the need to. You're true friends and I love you both.

"Draco, I'm sorry I said the things I said to you, I don't hate you and I don't want you to go away. I think you're a wonderful person, even if sometimes you do crappy things. We're all human and I understand. But what happened between us does still affect me. I don't need you to try and fix it, I don't need you to try and understand it. But it would help me if you were conscious of it, and thought about the things you say and do around me with a little more sensitivity. That would really help me." Draco looked to be on the brink of saying something, his face had softened as she spoke but she cut him off, holding up a hand, "Don't. My apology was not conditional. Just think about what I've said."

She took a deep breath and looked around herself at the three men. They were all staring at her with something that might have been awe. But they said nothing.

After a moment, Hermione cleared her throat and smiled weakly, "Harry, would you like to escort me back up to your wedding reception?"

He nodded and moved forward, following her as she made towards the boundary of the garden. And they walked away, leaving Blaise and Draco alone under the trees.

As they mounted the hill that led up towards the marquee, Harry finally spoke, his voice full of admiration and shock. "You amaze me, Hermione."

She shrugged and said sadly, "I'm just trying to do the right thing."

He suddenly stopped walking and gazed at her seriously, putting a hand out onto her shoulder, "You always do, you know. Even when you don't realise it. There's a reason you're my best friend. You've got a big heart." he said quietly.

Hermione felt tears pricking her eyes again. "Thank you, Harry."

He looked at her seriously for a moment before throwing an arm around her shoulders and saying jovially, "Come on then. Let's get back. Come have a dance with a real wizard."

* * *

A/N Ok, so I only just realised that this chapter is ridiculously long. Roughly 8000 words I think. A new record! Huzzah!


	4. The Year Draco Cried for Help

4.

THE YEAR DRACO CRIED FOR HELP

_November 28__th__, 2004._

Hermione stifled a yawn. Being a lawyer could be incredibly dull work sometimes. In an effort to save her sanity, she had long ago perfected the art of speaking, whilst allowing her mind to focus on something else entirely.

Right then, she was thinking about home. Or rather, the home her and Ron were desperately trying to find. They'd only decided to finally move out of the Burrow three months previously but the task of buying a house had proven far more difficult that they'd originally anticipated. It wasn't the money of course, Ron was moving up in the Auror division and Hermione was a partner in the firm now. No, it was their tastes. Ron wanted something huge, modern, clean cut, or as Hermione liked to think of it: a grey box with windows and a door. Ron was strangely a bit of a minimalist. Hermione on the other hand wanted something Victorian and old, with high ceilings and French doors and picture windows…

"The weakness in his case lies in the deposition he made on August thirtieth…" she was saying to her assistant, without really listening to herself.

Mandy jotted down everything that came out of Hermione's mouth fiercely. The woman was only a year younger than Hermione, being twenty four, but she looked up to her with this sense of fervent admiration which was sometimes alarming. Nonetheless, Hermione trusted her implicitly. The girl was loyal and didn't take it personally when Hermione was short with her.

Many nights had seen them sitting up, drinking tea and talking in between doing bouts of work. Ultimately, Hermione was immensely grateful to have her around.

"Would you like me to make a copy of his case notes for the Wizengamot?" Mandy asked quickly when Hermione had finished speaking.

"Yes." she replied, "But leave out the section about circumstantial evidence. I don't want to give them any ideas."

"Can we do that?"

"If we couldn't, do you think I would have suggested it?" Hermione responded with a wry grin. Of course, Mandy was right to be circumspect because, really, what Hermione had just asked her to do _was_ sort of against the law. But she'd learned very quickly that what the Ministry didn't know, wouldn't hurt them. And the Ministry knew very little about Hermione and Dawn's work. All they knew was that when they represented the Ministry, then the Ministry made a huge amount of gold. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Though, this was more Dawn's area of expertise. Hermione was far more of a criminal and human rights lawyer than Dawn, who focused on corporate and environmental law. Together, they made a formidable team.

The case Hermione was dealing with that day was a stressful one. She had somehow found herself defending the owner of a bookshop on Knockturn Alley who insisted that his selling of dark texts was beneficial to the public in that he was 'letting people know what they were dealing with'. Of course, Hermione wisely encouraged him not to mention that when he was put before the Wizengamot.

What made it stressful was the fact that this man seemed almost intent to prove that he was guilty. In other words, he was trying to convince Hermione to attempt to convince the Wizengamot that their laws were wrong and he was in the right. For some strange reason, she did not think taking that line would work too well. But the man would not be persuaded no matter how much she insinuated, heavily hinted and outright told him he was going to end up not only without a bookshop, but also in Azkaban where she privately thought he quite rightly belonged.

Hermione leant back in her chair and sighed, "Right, so, we're done? Have the Ministry owled with the court date yet?"

"Not yet, would you like me to remind them?" ask Mandy, quill poised.

"Yeah, why not?" she propped her doc martin clad feet up on the desk and pulled a file towards her. "Any messages by the way?"

"Uh, yes." Mandy flipped a page on her note pad. "Your dress robes are ready at Madam Malkin's, I'll pick them up this afternoon… And the Auror department are sending some people over tomorrow to question you about the Dolohov case…"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Oh, for fucks sake." Representing Antonin Dolohov was proving to be far more trouble than he was worth. He was one of those Death Eaters the Ministry seemed particularly keen to keep behind bars. "Which Aurors? Did it say?"

"No, it was quite vague."

Hermione smiled wryly and bent her head over the case file in her hands. "Naturally. Anything else?"

"Isobel's assistant flooed to confirm your lunch today."

"Did you confirm?" she asked, without looking up.

"Yes. But I said you might be a little late."

"Good."

"And you have a letter from Draco Malfoy."

Hermione's head snapped up. "What did it say?"

"I didn't read it." Mandy leant forward and presented Hermione with a rather skinny but tightly sealed scroll bearing the words: _To Miss Hermione Granger from Draco Malfoy. PRIVATE._

"Right." Hermione said vaguely, taking the scroll, "Thanks Mandy, you can go to lunch now."

Her assistant left without another word and Hermione swiftly tore open the wax seal. Draco had never written to her before, certainly not at work. She couldn't possibly think why he would start now…

But only a cursory glance told her his reasons. It was a plea. A desperate plea.

Without so much as a second look at the letter, Hermione shot up off her chair and ran out of her office behind Mandy who was just about to walk out the door.

"Mandy! Get Draco here now! You can floo him at home. And cancel my lunch with Isobel. Tell her that if she wants to swing by here, that might be better." she said frantically before disappearing back into her office.

She hurriedly gathered the files that lay scattered about her desk up in one pile and shoved them unceremoniously into an obliging draw. With that done, she smoothed down her tee-shirt self consciously and moved over to the monumental bookcase that spanned the west wall of her office, beginning to pull out several books that she thought might help.

Hermione then restocked the tea tray beside her desk and resumed her seat, beginning to flick through the books in front of her.

Only minutes later, there was a knock on her office door. Without waiting for an answer, Mandy popped her head in and Hermione was alarmed to see that the younger woman looked quite distressed.

"Draco Malfoy is here for you."

"Send him in." Hermione responded shortly, standing up. Moments later, he strode into the office.

Hermione had to fight the urge to gasp in horror. Never had she seen him look more wretched. His skin was pallid and blotchy with high red spots on his cheek bones and deep blue bags under his eyes which were puffy and blood shot. The only semi presentable aspect of his appearance was his suit and even that looked crumple and dirty upon closer inspection.

"Why didn't you come to me sooner?" she said by way of a greeting, gesturing for him to sit down.

He collapsed into the chair opposite hers and when he spoke, his voice was cracked and broken. "I didn't know it was this bad."

Hermione sat down and looked at him shrewdly. "Tell me everything."

"She was supposed to come out at the end of March, about six months ago. But they started talking about some… appeals process. I was worried at first but then all her letters kept saying everything was fine until… until…" his face crumpled and great, fat tears began to roll down his cheeks, "Until I got this. Yesterday."

Draco leant forward and handed Hermione a letter, smoothed flat and stained occasionally where his tears had made the ink run. She read…

_My Dearest son,_

_It seems that there has been a slight complication with my release date. I'm going to get straight to the point. They've pushed it back twenty five years._

_I don't know anything, before you ask. All I was told was that there was another trial and more anonymous testimony by not one but five individuals. They're saying I killed Charity Burbage. I've been tried and found guilty._

_I'm so sorry. I don't know what to do. The Gringotts accounts are all in your father's name. I don't have the money for a lawyer. _

_There is one ray of hope, however. They're telling me that you will now be allowed to visit as I have been deemed a 'permanent resident'. _

_I am so looking forward to being able to see you again, Draco. I know this seems bad, but please try not to do anything silly. Everything will be alright. It really isn't that bad in here ultimately. The guards are nice to me and I very much like my new mind healer. I know I have to thank Hermione for her. So if you see her, please tell her from me that my life would be so much harder if she was not the intelligent witch she is. Even if she is a muggleborn. _

_I love you sweetheart._

_Be safe._

_Be strong._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

Hermione gently placed the letter down on the desk for fear that if she held onto it any longer, her anger would cause her to crumple it into dust. When she spoke, her voice shook with rage.

"They sentenced her to twenty five years in prison in a trial _she did not even attend_?!" she growled, more to herself than to Draco.

"I don't know what to do." he said desperately. "I didn't know who else to come to."

Hermione leant back in her chair and narrowed her eyes. "What are you trying to say?"

Draco looked at her, his hopelessness wrought in every line on his face. "I need you Hermione."

She did not immediately reply. For some reason, though she knew she would represent him, had known the moment he showed her the letter from Narcissa, she_ wanted _him to beg. It was cruel, heartless and she was ashamed. But something about the way he'd come here, casually assuming she'd help, pissed her off.

Eventually she cleared her throat. "I have a heavy case load already, Draco."

"I would pay you!" he rasped quickly, looking fraught.

"I know you would." she responded, looking him straight in the eye.

"Please, Hermione. _Please_."

At hearing those words, hearing him give her exactly what she'd wanted, she was instantly filled with remorse. She leant forward and took up the letter again, her eyes flicking over the parchment. She could hear Narcissa's panic, her desperation and her feigned strength in the words. Hermione sighed.

"MANDY!"

Hermione's assistant burst through the door seconds later, notepad already poised in her hand.

"Yes, miss Granger?"

"I want you to get in contact with the Ministry, find out who presided over the most recent trial of Narcissa Malfoy. And I don't care who you have to threaten. I want to know who provided the anonymous testimony. In fact, floo the Minister's office as well. Tell Kingsley I want a word."

Mandy scrawled all this down on her pad, her quill moving lightning fast across the page. She then disappeared through the office door without another word.

"How was it that you didn't hear about this?" Hermione asked Draco. He did, after all, work in the Auror department…

"I've been on assignment for the last three weeks in Australia." he responded haltingly, the relief that she seemed to have agreed to represent his mother clear in his voice. The fact that she did not know this, was evidence to how little the two of them spoke anymore.

Hermione shook her head in disgust, "So they waited until you were out of the office, out of the country even, to make their move…"

"What do you mean 'they'?" he looked wary.

She laughed softly and leant forward, "Draco, think about this logically. Who deals with Azkaban's inmates? Aurors. Who attends the trials of these prisoners to act as guards? Aurors. Who transports them to and from these proceedings? Aurors. Something is going on here. I do not understand how not only you but Harry, Ron, Blaise and Bo were all kept in the dark surrounding this case. Actually…" Hermione leapt out of her seat and moved over to the fire. She took up a handful of floo powder, threw it into the grate, stuck her head into the green flames and said clearly, "Number twelve, Grimauld place."

Her head spun as is was transported out of her office before the newly refurbished kitchen of Harry and Ginny Potter's house whirled into view. Ginny was sitting at the old wooden kitchen table. She looked like she was waiting for something already.

"Hermione!" she cried, crashing to her knees in front of the grate, clearly distressed.

"You've heard from Harry?" Hermione deduced quickly.

Ginny nodded, "He just flooed! None of them knew a thing! They only just found out! Harry thinks there's something going on with some of the more higher up Aurors. But they can't find Draco! He's not at home!" the younger woman ranted, bordering on hysteria.

"It's alright, he's here with me." Hermione said quickly. "Where's Harry now?"

"Still at the office." Ginny replied, looking relieved. "They're trying to find out who gave the testimony but everyone's being very tight lipped. He thinks it came from some of the other prisoners though."

"Right. Thanks Ginny. I've got to go, but let Harry know we're working on it from our end. If he finds out anything, tell him to bring it to me immediately. He's not to tell _anyone _else. None of the other Aurors."

"Are you going to represent Draco and Narcissa?"

"Yes. I'll send him over once we're done. Talk to you later Ginny."

Hermione abruptly withdrew her head from the fire and moved back to her desk. She immediately told Draco everything Ginny had told her.

He looked shell shocked and beaten. "I don't understand it… Why would anyone do something like this?"

"People are fucked." Hermione responded shortly by way of comforting him. "Mandy!"

Her assistant appeared at the door again instantly.

"Progress?" Hermione snapped.

"The Minister's assistant says he's busy. Apparently there are problems in the Auror department. The whole place is in uproar."

Hermione assumed that this was most likely because of Harry, Ron, Blaise and Bo. "And the testimony?"

Mandy looked a little put out and threw a nervous glance at Draco, "I flooed your contact but he says it's the first he's heard about it but he'll see what he can do and… um…" she shifted uncomfortably, looking down at her shoes.

"What? What is it?" Hermione demanded.

"He said that his memory might be more cooperative if you had dinner with him." Mandy replied, looking as if she wanted very much to be out of the firing line.

Hermione glared at her assistant, trying to resist the urge to shoot the messenger. "You can tell Cormack to shove his dinner up his ass and the next time he propositions me, I'll start digging through his trust fund files again." she responded through gritted teeth.

Mandy nodded, smiling admiringly at her boss and made to leave but Hermione stopped her. "Oh and I need you to contact Susan Bones at St Mungos. Tell I need to see her. Tell her it's urgent. Then come back. I have a letter I need you to send."

Mandy nodded and disappeared.

"Why Susan?" asked Draco, who was looking a little dazed at Hermione's furious flight into action.

Hermione pulled a quill, ink bottle and parchment across the desk towards her, "She's one of the mind healers attending to the prisoners in Azkaban. She may know something. Help yourself to some tea, I just need to write this."

She bent over the parchment, her brow furrowed and began to write furiously.

_Mr Dolohov,_

_It has come to my attention that you have recently given anonymous testimony against one Narcissa Malfoy resulting in the lengthening of her original five year sentence to twenty five years._

_I'm sure you can understand that as a professional with a reputation to uphold, I must end our correspondence and, consequently, our professional relationship as I feel your testimony was false and misleading. _

_To put it simply, I cannot defend a liar._

_Regards,_

_Hermione Granger_

She rolled the parchment up, sealed it and addressed it before setting it on the desk.

"What's that?" asked Draco, eying the scroll with trepidation as he set a cup of tea in front of Hermione.

She grinned smugly, "A letter to Antonin Dolohov, one of my clients, saying that I no longer wish to represent him since he gave testimony against your mother."

Draco looked confused, "But you don't know if he testified against her!"

Her smug grin widened, "No, I don't. But if he did, he will most likely retract it after he receives this, which will make all the other statements given look weaker. Hopefully it will make him angry enough to make sure your father has a few sleepless nights too."

"And if he didn't?" he asked.

She shrugged, "I'm the best defence lawyer in the country Draco. If he did not, he may well provide me with some names in return for the renewal of our business relationship… And still give your father a few sleepless nights for losing him his lawyer. Either way, I've just put him in a rather desperate situation. And you can trust any Slytherin to put his own safety above any loyalty he might have to someone else."

Hermione did not mean this as a jibe. She was nowhere near that passive aggressive. But Draco looked uncomfortable nonetheless.

"How can you be so sure it was any of the Death Eaters?" he asked after a few moments of tense silence.

"Ginny said Harry thinks the testimony came from inside Azkaban. He would not have said that if he didn't have some kind of proof." she answered, "And besides, Lucius did it before, what's stopping him doing it again?"

"You really think my father has something to do with this?" asked Draco, looking pained.

Hermione nodded firmly, "I do. Very much so."

"Why would he do that though?!" Draco demanded, his voice rising and Hermione was reminded of the last time they had a conversation like this. "Why would he want to fuck with her like that?!"

Hermione shrugged. "Why did he do it last time? Out of spite. Because he is a vengeful, cruel sub human who has nothing better to do than make sure he continues to torture his wife and son from the cell in Azkaban where he belongs."

Draco looked furious at this statement, but Hermione was not his lover anymore, she didn't have to pander to him. She narrowed her eyes. "Remember who you're talking to here, Draco, before you reprimand me. I am your lawyer. You can either let me do my job, or you can leave."

He seemed to teeter on the verge of speech for a moment before his lips became a thin, hard line, as if he was being forced to swallow something that didn't taste very nice.

At that moment, Mandy reappeared, walking over to Hermione's desk and taking the letter addressed to Dolohov. "Miss Granger, Isobel's here. And Susan Bones is on her way."

"Thanks Mandy, show her in."

Isobel strode into the office a moment later, her heels clacking on the shiny floorboards. She looked between Hermione and Draco for a moment before moving to put her hand on Draco's shoulder and look down at him with an expression of deep concern.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded, seeming overcome with emotions and incapable of speech. Isobel turned her eyes to Hermione. "What's being done about this?"

Hermione grinned at her friend, "Enough. If all goes to plan, I will find out who has given this anonymous testimony, threaten them until they retract their statements and then represent Narcissa in court to make sure the sentence is revoked."

"How hopeful are you that this will work?"

"Very. They don't have a leg to stand on. Especially as there is something suspicious going on in the Auror division. They won't want me to dig too deeply, I don't think. I'll make sure a court date is set within the week. She'll be out in two, max." she pulled fresh sheets of parchment towards her in order to begin making notes on the case. "For now, Draco, I'd like you to bring me any letters your mother has sent you within the last year, alright?"

Draco, strangely, looked uncomfortable at this and did not seem to be able to meet her eye. "Is that really necessary?"

"Extremely. I need to know what Narcissa's view on all this had been. Your mother may have mentioned something that you haven't noticed that might be useful to her case. I need all the information I can get. _All of it_." she insisted, not really understanding his reluctance.

After a moment, he nodded vaguely and Hermione looked back to Isobel.

"Would you mind taking him to Harry and Ginny's? She's waiting for him and I think he needs to be with friends right now. And I have a lot of work to do."

"Sure." Isobel responded.

Hermione bent over her notes as the two of them left the office. The moment she was truly alone though, her face fell into her hands.

Her and Draco were not friends. After Harry's wedding over a year ago, they'd dropped that pretence all together. For that's what it had been, three years of the two of them dancing around each other, pretending to like each other, pretending to be ok with each other. Sure, he still came by, still hung out with Harry and Ron, but she didn't speak to him. They'd not spoken more than polite greetings to each other in a long, long time. She liked it better that way, felt freer when she was treating him as nothing more than an ex boyfriend rather than a friend.

Nobody spoke to her about him either. Not even Ron. Which still made her feel mildly embarrassed, seeing as it was just further evidence that _everyone _knew what was going on.

It was a conversation with Dawn that had ultimately inspired her to make the shift in her mind.

"Breakups are messy," her mentor had said, "Pretending otherwise is like standing in the rain and insisting you're not wet."

After that, Hermione had treated Draco with polite coldness and felt better for it.

But now, here he was. Begging her. Needing her. And he was right, really, he _did _need her. No one else did her job as well as she did. She was still the same annoying know it all she was in school after all, except now she was using her powers for good.

To some degree, she was capable of seeing him as nothing more than a new client. But there was still all the history, all the feelings, blah blah blah, to consider. She was bored by the endless cycle. Didn't stop it being there though.

Hermione finally took up her quill and began to jot down notes, things that Draco had said, important points in Narcissa's letter, her own theories, and what she'd learnt from Ginny.

After a few moments, Mandy announced Susan who entered the office and sat down at Hermione's behest, still clad in her St Mungos uniform.

"Is this about Narcissa Malfoy?" asked the other woman immediately.

Hermione chuckled, "Is there no one who doesn't know about this already?"

Susan grinned and said pointedly, "Not really. The hospital is abuzz."

"Hmm." Hermione said curiously, absentmindedly twirling her quill in her fingers, "I can understand the Ministry being abuzz… But why would the hospital be?"

Susan gave her a shrewd look and said airily, "Did I say that? I have no recollection of it."

Hermione knew instantly what was going to take place then. Susan could not tell her anything solid or answer any direct questions. But there was a reason Hermione was a lawyer after all…

"Might it be," she said, leaning forward, "and this is just a wild guess, might it be because the people who gave the anonymous testimony against an innocent woman were in fact imprisoned Death Eaters? Perhaps even clients of your colleagues? Or yourself?"

What Hermione was really asking Susan was whether or not the people who'd given anonymous testimony were Death Eaters and her own clients. She needed it confirmed, at least in her own mind.

Susan looked nonchalant, "You know I can't give you information about _my_ clients, Hermione."

Translation: yes.

Hermione waved her hand in acknowledgment. "Oh, of course, of course. I understand entirely. I myself am under the same oath, aren't I?" she busied herself making the two of them tea. "Tell me though, I forget, do you work with the male inmates or the females?"

Again, the question was indirect, the real meaning being: Were the Death Eaters in question male or female?

"I have been known to work with both, but most recently, I've been working exclusively with the males." Susan replied pointedly.

Hermione smiled and set a cup of tea down in front of her friend. "I thought as much. Does it not get stressful though, offering support to all of those high ranking Death Eaters? Knowing the sort of things they've done? Knowing they were in Voldemort's inner circle?"

The real question: are these Death Eaters high ranking or irrelevant? Which ones do I need to be investigating?

"Oh, I don't have to deal with many of _those_ prisoners. Just one in fact. Now, I can't name names of course, but he is proving very difficult to deal with. He has so many issues with resentment. Seems he is capable of holding a grudge forever. The others are… thugs mostly. Only interested in furthering their own influence."

Translation: Lucius Malfoy. Who holds a grudge longer than humanly possible. His accomplices being only minor Death Eater's who'll follow his lead blindly. Likely men like Crabbe and Goyle Sr.

Hermione had all she needed.

"Thank for your help." she said brightly.

Susan winked, "No problem. I'm sorry I couldn't give you more information. And let me know how it goes, yeah?"

Hermione nodded and showed Susan to the door.

* * *

Late that night, Hermione sat hunched over her desk, fresh paperwork scattered across the wooden surface consisting of everything she had managed to convince the Ministry to release to her regarding Narcissa Malfoy's imprisonment and the reasons behind it. The information about her first trial, the one that had resulted in her initial five year sentence, was fairly extensive. The notes on her behaviour and life in Azkaban was less so. But the one thing she had been able to find next to nothing on was the trail held most recently. She had acquired nothing more than a single sheet that told her what date the trail had been held on, what the charges were and the sentence that had been laid down. And this was only after she had flooed to Cormack's office and threatened him personally.

The night outside the windows was dark and cold. She worked from the light of her fireplace and a single candle. Her back ached and her hand cramped but she would not leave her post. Not until she had sorted through everything, gotten it properly categorised in her mind.

At that moment, Mandy appeared at her side with a cup of tea and half a sandwich. Hermione took them both, smiling gratefully at her assistant.

"Dawn's just left." Mandy told her, "She said that if you needed any help you can floo her. Doesn't matter what time." the younger woman then dropped a pile of dog eared letters, tied together with string, on Hermione's desk. "And these came from Draco. Letters from his mother."

Hermione resisted the urge to sigh. More work.

"Thanks Mandy. You can go home now."

"Are you sure?" her assistant looked concerned.

Hermione nodded and smiled, "Positive. I won't need anything else."

Mandy laid a hand briefly on Hermione's shoulder before departing the office.

Hermione dragged the pile of letters towards her and pulled open the tie that held them together. She was happy to note, as she began to flick through them, that he'd already ordered them by date. This made her work easier.

She picked up the first, dated at September 19th 2003, two weeks after Harry and Ginny's wedding, and sat back in her chair, propping her feet up on her desk and seizing the sandwich.

_Draco, _

_I know very well that you would not want to hear this but you are so your father's son. You feel bad, Draco. Admit that and be done. Don't do what he did, pretend that you are fine, that your actions are justifiable. I know you well and I know that you already do lend them reason, I can hear it in the way you write about her…_

Hermione's stomach clenched and it was with a sense of masochistic recklessness that she read on.

_But you're better than that. Better than blaming everyone else for your own bad choices. That was your mistake last time, was it not?_

_I love you,_

_Narcissa_

It was a shock to her, hearing Narcissa speak with such reason and maturity. She hadn't expected it for some reason. There was something about the letter, about the advice it gave and the way it was written that oddly reminded Hermione of herself.

She seized the next one on the pile, dated September 23rd 2003, only days after the last.

_Draco,_

_I'm sorry I upset you, son._

_I will not attempt to deny that I am disappointed by the misdeeds you so freely admit to committing at Harry and Ginny's wedding. But what saddens me most is your inability to take responsibility! _

_Where is your remorse, Draco?_

_Love,_

_Narcissa_

The next letter, Hermione noticed, was not written until October 19th.

_Draco,_

_First, I want you to know that I'm so happy to hear from you. _

_But I will not have our relationship ransomed over whether or not I tell you what you want to hear, do you understand me? I may be imprisoned but I am still your mother. Treat me thus._

_Moving on. Have you heard from her? Have you apologised?_

_I love you,_

_Narcissa_

Hermione sincerely wished she'd never asked this of Draco. She didn't want to read anymore, but the pile of letters sat in front of her on the desk, beckoning to her. Narcissa had not yet named names, perhaps Hermione was just being paranoid. Perhaps the 'her' Narcissa spoke of was someone else.

The next letter broke Hermione's spirit entirely.

_Draco,_

_I am so sorry to hear that you feel the friendship is broken. But perhaps this is what is best for Hermione. If you have not yet heard from her then it seems she does not want to have any further contact with you. But I urge you Draco, if you so desperately wish to speak to her, perhaps you should be the one to make contact? Swallow your pride. If nothing else, write her a letter._

_I remember well our correspondence from your last year at Hogwarts. The way you described her then made it sound like you trusted her. And she trusted you, she cared for you. I promise that has not gone away, it's just damaged. I feel as if I know her. And I think she would listen._

_Love,_

_Narcissa_

And the next…

_Draco,_

_You know what's best, my son. Just remember this was your choice._

_Narcissa_

It struck Hermione then what she had missed in the letter Draco had given her earlier that day. She was so overcome with rage at Narcissa's ill treatment that she hadn't registered it properly, but his mother had called Hermione by name, even spoken as if she was familiar with her.

The only conclusion that she could come to was that Draco spoke about her more than she would have thought.

_Draco,_

_I have not heard from you in a while. I am lonely. I had a dream last night that you and I were…_

Hermione glanced up suddenly as the flames in her fireplace glowed a virulent green. She stood and made her way over to the grate when suddenly, Harry's face appeared.

"How's it going?" he asked instantly.

Hermione shrugged noncommittally. "Alright. Can you see the mountain of paperwork on my desk?"

He grimaced. "Yep."

She wanted to tell him about the things she'd read, tell him how it was affecting her. A year ago she'd made the choice not to remain closed about her feelings around Draco any longer and Harry and Isobel had both become her most trusted confidants on the subject. And it had helped quite a bit, didn't make her feel so alone or so crazy. But this was different. This was work.

"What's up?" she asked instead, swallowing all the words that could have come pouring forth from her at that moment.

"Come to my place." he responded. "Everyone's here. You've done enough work for tonight."

Hermione glanced at her watch. "It's only eleven o'clock. I've got another four hours before my brain begins to feel the effects of sleep deprivation… I've got too much work to do Harry."

"Come on!" he insisted, "This is stupid, Hermione. What's so urgent that you can't leave it til the morning?"

"You, Ron and I are going to see Kingsley tomorrow morning. I need all the information I can get before then."

Harry looked confused and wary, "We're what?"

"Going to see Kingsley." she replied matter-of-factly in a tone that brooked no argument.

He grinned, "Should I even ask?"

Hermione returned his smile and shook her head.

After a few more vague words were exchanged, Harry was gone and Hermione returned reluctantly to her desk.

The brief conversation with her friend, no matter how commonplace, had allowed her the break she'd need to clear her head somewhat. She decided there and then that she would read the rest of the letters with a purely professional eye and would remain emotionally detached to their content. Unless she hit upon something useful.

For hours, Hermione poured over the letters, each as useless as the last. Her name was mentioned with less frequency as she read on, only the occasional enquiry on Narcissa's part of Hermione's wellbeing.

She mentioned the appeals process Draco had been talking about but as he'd said, she seemed fairly confidant. Narcissa Malfoy was a surprisingly patient woman.

It wasn't until almost two thirty in the morning that she finally found something useful. Something incredibly useful.

It was a letter from Narcissa, the first after a six week long gap that was dated at being written mere days after the trial that had decided her conviction of murder and only three days before her letter to Draco breaking the news.

_Draco,_

_I apologise, this will be a quick letter. I have only had the chance now because there is a woman on duty who is kind to me. The other guards have not been letting me write to you. I do not understand why. They have only told me that you are away on assignment and are unreachable. There is something strange happening. I have just spent three days in isolation in my cell. They would not tell me why I was not allowed out. _

_Where are you son? _

_I tried to write to Hermione. Initially, they told me that I could not send letters to those who were not immediate family. I have never heard of this rule and I have written to others before… But then they agreed and let me send the letter though Hermione has not yet replied and it has been weeks._

_I'm scared, Draco. Please write back as soon as you can._

_I love you,_

_Mum_

This was the gold nugget Hermione had been waiting for. This was proof of mistreatment. They'd stopped Narcissa writing to her own son, put her in isolation and what's more, stopped her making contact with a lawyer. For Hermione had not received any letter from Narcissa.

She had them now.

* * *

_November 29__th__, 2004_

The Ministry of Magic atrium was always a little intimidating to Hermione. It was like an underground city, huge and spacious and full of echoing voices. She could never shake the feeling that it was all going to fall in on her, metaphorically or physically. And her tiredness was not making any of these feelings less potent that morning.

Harry and Ron met her by the lift.

"How are you?" asked Ron immediately, looking concerned. She had not come home the night before and the floor next to her desk was not the most comfortable place to sleep.

"Ready." she replied with an air of almost demented determination, getting into the lift with the expectation that they would follow her. "Are you coming or what?"

Harry and Ron exchanged wary looks before stepping in after her. Hermione pressed the button and the doors clanged shut.

"Where are we going exactly?" asked Ron.

"To see Kingsley."

"And why do we have to come?"

"Because there is corruption in the Ministry and I want him to do something about it. If I go alone, I'm just a lawyer. If it's all three of us, we're the Golden Trio. Understand?"

The boys shared another look. They'd had to become used to Hermione being like this since she'd started work for Dawn, and even more so since she'd become a lawyer in her own right. Hermione was different at work than she was at home. At home, she was their Hermione, the one they'd grown up with. At work she was a force to be reckoned with.

They reached level one quickly and Hermione immediately strode out of the lift and down the corridor, Harry and Ron in tow.

Mandy had not been wrong when she'd said the Ministry was in uproar. It was always busy, but that day there was a frantic air to the way people were bustling up and down the halls. Yes. Something was definitely afoot.

The three of them arrived in the foyer that led to Kingsley's office. His assistant Patrick looked up in surprise when they entered.

"I told Mandy the Minister couldn't see you today." he spluttered.

"And Mandy told me. Yet, here I am. Mind letting him know?" Hermione responded.

The boy stood and disappeared into his boss's office with a indignant glance in her direction.

"You're so sexy when you're like this." said Ron lowly, chuckling. Hermione glared at him. Harry groaned.

A moment later, Patrick returned, plastering a false smile across his face.

"He'll see you now."

"Oh, good. Thank you." Hermione responded as if this information was surprising. Though she knew, they all knew, she would have gone into that office regardless of whether she'd been given permission.

She strode forwards.

Kingsley sat behind his huge mahogany desk looking distinctly stressed.

"Why am I not surprised to see you three?" he said by way of greeting, "What can I do for you?"

Hermione sat down. "What are you offering?"

The Minister pulled off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I don't have time for games, Hermione. Just tell me why you're here."

"On the 21st of November a trial was held to determine whether or not Narcissa Malfoy murdered Charity Burbage. I'm sure you're aware of it."

He sighed. "If I wasn't, I'd be rather behind the times. What is your involvement?"

"I'm her lawyer." Hermione responded with a challenging smile.

Kingsley looked even more stressed at that, "Oh lord."

"Yes. So. I'd like a full scale enquiry to be launched into this matter." she said abruptly.

"And why ever would I do that?" asked the Minister wearily.

"Because five prisoners from Azkaban, the most notable being her husband Lucius Malfoy, came forward six months ago on March 8th and provided anonymous testimony against her, proclaiming that she had murdered Charity Burbage."

Kingsley cut across her then, "Four, not five. One has been recently withdrawn."

Hermione nodded, barely containing her smile. She made a mental note to write a letter to Antonin Dolohov when she returned to the office.

"My point remains the same. This case, rather strangely, was not at any point in the intervening time, brought up to her son Draco Malfoy who, if he'd known, might have not only provided her with an adequate defence lawyer, but also testified that she was not Ms Burbage's murderer. A knowledge he has because he was there the night she died and saw Voldemort perform the killing curse." she took a minute to allow this information to sink in before she spoke again, "What I want to know is how this information was concealed from Mr Malfoy and his closest friends, all of whom work in the Auror department, and _why _it was concealed at all."

"How is it that you know so much?"

Hermione grinned, "I'm good at my job, Minister."

The Minister shrugged, "So Draco didn't know about the trial… Perhaps it was not brought up to him because it was a conflict of interest."

"That's a fair point. But I still believe the inquiry should go ahead." she cleared her throat and began laying out pieces of paper on Kingsley's desk, each backing up the facts as she told them to him. "You see, there's this law. Cumbersome thing it is too. I'm not sure if you're familiar with section 81 of the National Charter of Wizarding Rights? No? Well in essence, it specifically says that it is illegal for a trial to be held if the defendant is not present. Furthermore, it is illegal for a sentence to be passed if the defendant is not present. Narcissa Malfoy was most certainly _not _present at the trial that decided she would be charged with the murder of Charity Burbage and she was most certainly not present when they sentenced her to twenty five further years in Azkaban. Furthermore," Hermione set the final piece of parchment down on his desk, Narcissa's letter, "She was wrongfully prevented from communicating with her son and her lawyer."

Kingsley gave her a long look and then said, as if testing the waters, "If I just say the sentence is void, will you be satisfied?"

She tilted her head to the side and smiled sympathetically, "That's a start, but no. I want a another trial within the next five days. I want a full list of those Death Eaters who testified. I want Narcissa to be legally divorced from her husband and his accounts transferred into her name as alimony, damages for the grief he has caused her. And I want the enquiry. Your Auror department is corrupt Kingsley. If it isn't dealt with, you can no longer rely on Dawn's legal services nor mine."

Threatening the Minister had not been Hermione's preferred choice of action but when she had spoken with her mentor that morning, Dawn had insisted on it.

Nonetheless, Kingsley did look angry. "And what if I choose not to take this matter any further?"

Hermione was about to answer but Harry cut across her. "Then you would be no better that Scrimgeour or Fudge. I won't stand behind a Minister who would rather put his hands over his ears and pretend nothing is happening than confront corruption and bigotry." he growled.

"Me neither." said Ron then, seriously, "And I think I can safely say most of your Auror department would agree."

Hermione leant forward, hoping to act as a voice of reason, "Think about this Kingsley. You need the tovarasi. Harry, Ron, Blaise, Draco and Bo are the best Aurors you have, Isobel will be head of the department of International Magical Cooperation within the year, Eli is potions master at Hogwarts and head of Hufflepuff house, Juliet is partner in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes which is the most successful business on Diagon Alley, Ginny is a nationally revered quidditch player for the Holyhead Harpies, Susan and Padma are both head healers in their respective fields at St Mungos, Luna's partner Dean is one of the most widely read journalists at the Daily Prophet and I'm the best defence lawyer in the country. Do you really want all of us working against you?" her voice was calm and level throughout her entire speech, but the threat was there.

McGonagall had known what she was doing when she hired Teodora all those years ago, and Teodora had known what she was doing when she enforced the bonds of the tovarasi. Their experiment had worked. Ten people, their partner's, their families, all connected and all ready to defend one another.

After a moment, Kingsley smiled indulgently. "You, Hermione, are Dumbledore's creature through and through."

"I'm not sure I agree, but I'll take that as a compliment." she responded.

"I meant it as one." the Minister looked at her shrewdly for a moment before he waved his hand dismissively, "Very well. I will grant the requests that are within my power to grant, Hermione. Though I cannot release the names of the people who gave their statements and I cannot grant Mrs Malfoy a divorce. That is for the court to decide. To everything else though, you have my support. I do hope our working relationship will not continue to be this… rocky. We did fight on the same side once, remember?"

"I remember." she said, her heart beating furiously with her triumph.

* * *

_December 4__th__, 2004._

The date had been set shortly after her meeting with the Minister and only days later, Hermione escorted her client to her trial.

It was one like any other that Hermione had already attended. She walked in, cajoled, manipulated, twisted words and made sure, by the end of it, that every single person present believed her version of the truth was the only version. Of course, the only thing that differed in this particular case, was that she really believed in Narcissa's innocence. Something that did not happen often.

And every time she looked up into the rows of benches that surrounded her while she spoke, she saw Draco's face, saw his desperation and it infected her. She would pay any amount of money to never see that look on his face again.

He had been almost crippled with his distress despite Hermione's smug confidence for days, up until the Wizengamot had actually granted Narcissa her freedom, her divorce and her alimony. Nothing Hermione had said to him seemed to have any affect at all. He was focused on his frantic worry, afflicted with tunnel vision.

But though seeing him like that upset her, and she wished she could do something to change it, a tiny part of Hermione's heart was pleased by it. To see Draco loving someone so totally like that, as if the beating of his heart relied entirely on their happiness to continue, was comforting. Draco was so closed, he'd always been like that, and seeing him raw again was refreshing. It had been such a long time since she'd witnessed it.

Hermione had known all along that she'd be able to get Narcissa off. There had never been a doubt in her mind. Even if she hadn't been able to collect the evidence she had, it still would not have been hard. Whoever had organised the conviction of Narcissa had not done a particularly good job. They seemed to have been relying almost entirely on the hope that no one on the outside would even notice. Oh, how that had backfired.

There had been a party after the trial that Ginny and Harry had agreed to host and the tovarasi had organised.

Hermione would never forget as long as she lived, the look on Narcissa's face when she was welcomed into the home of Harry Potter. When her welcome was warm, jovial and affectionate. When she got to see the small crowd of people there only to celebrate her freedom, people who were glad to see her.

That look made Hermione think that perhaps Draco wasn't the only abandoned one in his family, not the only one who needed love and care, not the only one who needed to hear the words.

As the night progressed, Hermione got to see a new side to Draco. In the context of his mother's company, he smiled more and there was something childlike about his demeanour. Hermione knew this was not just something that was taking place because of their recent reunion, no, there was a feeling of familiarity to it, like that's how they'd always been together.

The only thing changed was that fresh sense of freedom that hung around the pair. Hermione got the feeling that that must have been the first time in Draco's twenty five years of life, that the two of them had been able to speak openly, without fear of saying the wrong thing or who would overhear.

Narcissa was, on the whole, an intelligent, pensive sort of woman. She spoke little, but when she did, her words held a huge amount of weight. She never said something without meaning it. Hermione liked her.

The only thing that really spoke ill of her character was the fact that she spoke quite openly with Ginny, Ron, Blaise, Luna and Isobel; was marginally awkward with Harry, Padma, Bo and Susan. But her words were short with Juliet, Dean and Eli and strained with Hermione.

It took Hermione some time to notice this over the course of the night and the conclusion she drew eventually, irked her. It seemed as if Narcissa was easy going with the purebloods, only slightly self-conscious with the halfbloods and downright uncomfortable with the muggleborns.

At first, Hermione was offended by this and wanted to say something. But then, she realised who she was dealing with. Narcissa was who she was. She wasn't like Draco, who'd spent most of his life surrounded by people of various blood statuses, no matter how badly he treated them. It had been a long, long time since Narcissa had been at Hogwarts, a long time since she'd had to mix with muggleborns. Considering the life she'd led, who she'd been married to, she was actually doing rather well.

Strangely, Hermione had not had a proper conversation with Draco's mother at any point, short of the one they'd had at the trial in the presence of the Wizengamot when Hermione had questioned her.

It wasn't until late that night, when the party was only just beginning to wind down and everyone present had had maybe one too many firewhiskys, that this changed.

She'd been feeling unsteady on her feet and light headed, overcome slightly by the constant laughter and chatter that was echoing through the drawing room of number twelve, Grimauld place as the tovarasi attempted to fill Narcissa in on everything that had taken place in the world since her incarceration.

So Hermione had slipped out, tip toeing down to the kitchen for a moment of quiet and some desperately needed tea.

She thought she was alone with her thoughts until the kitchen door had clicked closed behind her.

Hermione wheeled around to find Narcissa standing there, hands folded demurely in front of her, looking uncomfortable.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Hermione asked, at a loss for anything else to say.

"Thank you." the older woman said shortly.

Hermione busied herself preparing two cups and setting the kettle on the stove to boil. She then took a seat at the old wooden table, gesturing for Narcissa to join her and after only a brief moment of hesitation, she did.

"How do you feel?" asked Hermione with a tight smile.

"I as if I am trapped in a nice but rather bemusing dream." answered the older woman wearily.

"That's understandable. I thought perhaps the party might be a bit much…"

"Oh, it's not the party. I don't think I've heard real laughter in many years, every time I've heard it tonight I feel as if I have been walking through a desert all this time and only just found an oasis." Narcissa responded, smiling weakly, "It's just being here. Seeing Draco as he is now. I've never seen him so happy. It's such a blessing not to look at him now and see his father's scowl."

Hermione laughed, "I think I have to agree with that. After all, it was the _only_ expression he gave to me for a long time."

Rather than joining Hermione in her laughter, Narcissa only looked saddened by this. "I'm sorry about Draco. It was as much my fault as Lucius's that he turned out the way he did."

Hermione smiled kindly, compassion for this sad, mistreated woman filling her heart, "He changed though, didn't he? He hasn't called me a mudblood in years and years. He didn't turn out that badly… in the end…"

"I am not only talking about his pureblood prejudices, Hermione." the older woman responded lowly, with a meaningful look.

Hermione felt her face burn red as her understanding finally caught up, "Oh… uh… well that's all… it's over now… so…"

Narcissa nodded in understanding. "And a part of me is saddened by that."

That comment hung in the air then, silence settling between the two women. Hermione had no idea how to respond to it in the slightest. Her mind was fogged with the alcohol. She only felt confused.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" asked Narcissa suddenly, after a moment.

Hermione grinned in response, "Oh yes. Madam Malkin's just before sixth year. I think you called me scum?"

"I did, didn't I? What you must have thought of me…"

They sat in silence again for a moment as the kettle boiled, before Hermione spoke again, her voice quiet. "I want you to know… I don't actually expect you to be different. I know those old prejudices are still there, I know you still think of me as less than a pureblood somehow. I can't imagine how confused you must feel."

Narcissa frowned, avoiding Hermione's gaze, "I will not deny it. I think you less of a witch. But I do not think you less of a human any longer. You've proved yourself quite capable of being human. It _is _confusing, Hermione. I feel… connected with you. But I find it hard to respect you."

Hermione nodded, "I understand. I have my own prejudices too. I'm not offended. I think we'll both come to an understanding eventually. We'll figure it out. Until then though, I'd like to consider you a friend, if that's alright."

"That is quite alright. I would consider you the same, I think. I cannot war with my feelings after all. And my feelings are that you are a part of my life now, and a good part at that."

After that, they did not speak again, nor did they hug or smile. They simply made tea together and rejoined the party. Hermione Granger and Narcissa Black.

* * *

A/N Oh god, these chapters just keep getting longer and longer don't they?

Now, I want to say, before I get any long winded reviews about how the legal side of this chapter didn't make sense, I'm well aware lol. For one, I'm not a lawyer and two, this is the Harry Potter universe, I can make up any laws I want haha. In the end, I tried my best and ultimately I so love writing Hermione as this bad ass who takes no shit. It's so refreshing after Victim of the Fall where her lack of self esteem and self assurance often hindered her progress. Sorry for making her so arrogant too, but I really couldn't resist :D

Anyway, where are all my reviewers! Tell me what you think guys! I want to know whether I'm just talking to dead air here lol.

xx

Desdemona


	5. The Year of the Ministry Gala

5.

THE YEAR OF THE MINISTRY GALA

_December 10__th__, 2005._

Hermione was _not _drunk.

Not completely drunk anyway, she wasn't about to pass out in a gutter or anything, but she may have been slurring just a little bit and was perhaps being a little more flirty than she usually would be.

Still.

On one side of her, stood Ron, arm around her waist, holding a bottle of butterbeer and talking amicably with his older brother Percy and Percy's new wife Audrey. Hermione had grown to cultivate a grudging sort of respect for Percy, he did his job well, but she could not stand his wife, no matter how hard she tried to get along with the woman. Audrey was a mousy, snippy woman who practiced gossip like an art form. She was the sort of person who would pepper Hermione with questions about her clients continuously; no matter how many times Hermione told the annoying cow she couldn't break her client's confidence. It would always get to the point where she'd have to actually walk away, just to avoid more questions.

On her other side was Harry, who was quietly trying to sooth a near hysterical and heavily pregnant Ginny. Unfortunately for him _and _everyone who knew her, Ginny didn't really suit pregnancy all that well. She was prone to taking every little thing completely out of proportion, crying at the drop of a hat and immediately assuming that anything anyone ever said to her was a personal attack. Hermione greatly admired Harry's seemingly endless reservoir of patience. If Ginny was having some sort of totally mad outburst, Harry was more often than not, at her side trying to talk her down. Tonight was no different.

With such fascinating and good natured company on both sides, it was a wonder Hermione _wasn't _passed out in a gutter.

But she did sort of love coming to these things. Every year, the Ministry put together a huge do for Christmas. The already grand atrium in the Ministry was converted into an even grander ballroom, giving the Hogwarts Christmas feast a definite run for its money. Tables and chairs, decadently heaving under various lavish dishes, gold cutlery and pearlescent white fabric lined the walls, while a monolithic chandelier lit by real fairies hung from the ceiling. A roseate glow bathed the cavernous space, candles rising up the walls and floating through the air. At one end the traditional fountain shone a luminescent and magical blue while at the other a tasteful wizarding jazz band led everyone in a dance.

It was known only as The Gala and absolutely _everyone _who worked at the Ministry came. The atrium was full to bursting with quite literally hundreds of witches and wizards from various departments and their partners, girlfriends, boyfriends, husbands and wives. From where she was standing, Hermione could see Arthur and Molly Weasley doing the twist in the very middle of the dance floor; Isobel, Bo and Cho Chang sitting on the bench surrounding the fountain, all looking like a fifteen year olds wet dream in their luxurious satin gowns; Draco and Blaise drifting from one group of giggling females to the next on the opposite side of the room; and Kingsley and McGonagall chatting good naturedly at one of the tables by the stage.

It was the one time of year when Hermione had no problem wearing heels and a nice dress. That night, she was sporting a thigh length black lace dress; open at the back, with a high lace collar. Ron had insinuated that it made her look too severe, but she loved it. She thought it suited her perfectly.

"But how do you _know_ she didn't mean it like that, Harry?!" hissed Ginny from Hermione's left.

"Because she's a hundred years old Ginny! She can barely see!" Harry's pained voice replied.

"She's _such _a bitch."

"Only yesterday I was saying to Kingsley how the new extensions on Azkaban would affect the budget." Percy was saying snootily on Hermione's other side.

"I wonder how the prisoners feel about it." dithered his wife with a sidelong look at Hermione.

"Mmm, yeah." Ron responded vaguely.

At that moment, Hermione noticed Blaise and Draco passing near their group. Well, not exactly near, they were still on the other side of the room, but they were close enough.

"I think I see Blaise!" she said, somewhat madly and, without waiting for any kind of response, virtually threw herself across the dance floor in his direction.

"Hi!" she said brightly, approaching the pair who were leering laddishly at a group of women from the Administrative Registration department. "Sorry. Don't mean to be a cock block, but I can't listen to Audrey speak any longer… Or Ginny for that matter."

Blaise grinned knowingly. "Entirely understandable." he threw an arm about Hermione's shoulders and she noticed the group of girls turn sullen.

"Where's Narcissa tonight?" she asked Draco.

"Home at the Manor." he responded with a shrug, his eyes still scanning the room like a bird of prey. "She's refurbishing the library."

"Well, let her know if she needs help, she can always owl me."

Draco flashed her a wry smile, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You'll never escape. For some reason work commitments don't really qualify as more important than finding the right shade of puce."

Hermione chuckled and took a sip of her wine. "I'm a lawyer Draco. I can convince her that sky blue is the right shade of puce."

He and Blaise laughed.

It gave her a funny warm sort of feeling to hear them laughing at her jokes. She felt as if she'd been so morose lately, so cut off from everyone because of work. She felt guilty in a way, because they were always doing things, the rest of the tovarasi, always organising dinners and trips and parties, but for some reason, even though they all worked in jobs as equally demanding as Hermione's, she never had the time they did. It was her obsession, she supposed, and she'd always been like that. In all the time Hermione had been at Hogwarts, not one person had ever failed to pass their exams, but of course, she was the only one always in the library. Why? She would never know. That was just how she was wired in the end. She had to be the best.

Ron was such a blessing though. He seemed to be entirely aware of her limitations and short comings. He worked his life around them, didn't rely on her to always be there and was totally fine when she was late home. He did, of course, express concern over how that would look if they had children, but that was a while in the future yet.

On the whole, their relationship was going quite well. It was quiet, comfortable. Sure, they fought sometimes and those fights reminded her so heavily of the ones they used to have at Hogwarts that it made her head spin. But it didn't happen often, or not often enough to be worried about any way. For the most part, they rubbed along together, in their own separate lives, quite well. She was happy with him, Ron was easy. Ron was a gentleman.

Ron was so lovely.

Hermione found herself staring across the ball room at her partner, making doe eyes at him, a dopey smile adorning her face. Eventually, he looked up at her and gave her a confused but loving smile. She couldn't blame him really; she wasn't the most affectionate person in the world.

"You look all blissed out, Hermione." said Blaise.

"Just thinking." she responded with a contented sigh.

"Bout what?" he asked, clearly trying to prod her into conversation. He looked bored.

"Oh, you know… Ron. I'm so grateful to him. Doesn't matter how obnoxious or emotionally distant I am, he just takes it in his stride. How many guys would be like that?" she answered, her eyes misting just a little, her words not in the least bit slurred _at all_.

Blaise giggled. "You're so drunk."

"Am not!" she replied indignantly, swatting his arm, "I'm not! I don't look drunk do I Draco?"

Draco didn't smile. In fact, he didn't even look at her. "Even if you were, I don't think I'd have noticed."

And with that rather cutting remark, he strode away.

"The fuck was that about?" Hermione demanded of Blaise.

He grinned, "Duh. He's jealous."

"Hah! Yeah right." Hermione chuckled and watched as Draco made his way over to the drinks table, took up two flutes of champagne, before striding purposefully across to where Isobel, Bo and Cho were sitting by the fountain. Draco immediately handed the second flute to Cho, whose glass was sitting empty beside her. He smiled winningly, glanced back at Hermione and Blaise for only the merest of seconds before beginning to talk animatedly to the woman.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Blaise who laughed as he downed his drink.

"If I didn't love him so much, I'd think that was pretty pathetic." he said dryly.

"Ditto." Hermione responded with a grin.

This was the reason her friendship with Draco was still so strained. Sure, they'd gotten marginally closer since Hermione was so familiar with Narcissa now, but there was still a massive, frightening gap between them. And it was mostly because of these inexplicable little tantrums he had. Hermione found it hard to like someone so passive aggressive. But, that was just him. They didn't need to be close, not in her mind anyway. She'd learnt not to pine for Draco's friendship. It had been a long and painful lesson, but she'd learnt it. And now, his bitchy little tantrums only made her laugh, only bringing up the tiniest resentment, one that was squashed easily.

At that moment, a hand landed on her arm, breaking her away from her own thoughts. Hermione turned around and looked up at someone she had not set eyes upon in many years.

"Ebony?" she spluttered.

"Hey!" said the younger girl brightly, jumping to wrap her arms around Hermione's shoulders.

"Oh my god! I haven't seen you in years! You look fantastic!" Hermione cried happily.

And the younger woman really did. She'd grown into her long legs and now stood a couple of inches taller than Hermione, dark hair falling around her olive skinned shoulders. She had large brown eyes that shone with open emotion and pert little bow shaped lips. She'd become an incredibly beautiful woman. Almost heart achingly so, to the point that Hermione felt self conscious even standing next to her.

"Thanks! So do you!" Ebony replied, "I was hoping to see you here actually, I've heard so much about what you've been doing, I'm surprised we haven't run into each other sooner!"

"Are you working at the Ministry?" asked Hermione eagerly.

Ebony rolled her eyes, "Yes. I wasn't going to come tonight but I was hoping to do a bit of sucking up to my boss. He seems intent to keep refusing me my promotion."

"What department? I might be able to help you out."

"Department of Mysteries."

Hermione balked, "Oh, my… That's incredible! There are not many people smart enough to become an Unspeakable so soon out of Hogwarts! How long have you been working here?"

"Only a year or so. They're keeping me in the Hall of Prophecies though, which is kind of dull work. I mean, it's all just dusting shelves and cataloguing the new arrivals, that sort of thing. I want to work with the Veil or in the Time Room." Ebony's large eyes lit up at the thought making Hermione smile. It was always nice to see someone so passionate about their job.

Hermione nodded, "I'll see what I can do. I don't know Edgar well, but I'm on good terms with Kingsley so…"

Ebony looked jubilant. "You will?! Oh that would be fantastic! Thanks Hermione! Well… Now I can start actually enjoying myself. Someone get me a drink!" she giggled jokingly.

Blaise suddenly appeared beside Hermione with a full flute of champagne in his hand.

"Here." was all he said, handing Ebony the glass.

"Oh!" Hermione cried, noticing him, "Sorry! Blaise, this is Ebony Laurence, she was in her third year when we left Hogwarts. Ebony this is Blaise, he works in… in… Blaise, are you alright?" she frowned.

Blaise had gone quite pale and was staring at Ebony as if he'd never set eyes on a woman before. It took him a moment to realise Hermione was speaking to him.

"What?" he asked vaguely, eyes dragging away from Ebony's face and landing on Hermione's, moving at a glacial pace, "Oh… Yeah. Um. I'm fine… I just, uh, noticed someone. Over there. Should probably…" his voice trailed off as he walked away from them.

Hermione stared at his retreating back in confusion. She'd never seen Blaise behave with anything other than an air of cocky arrogance around women. Ebony looked both perplexed and on the verge of laughter.

"So that was Blaise." Hermione said after a moment. "How have you been anyway, outside of work I mean?"

Ebony shrugged. "Eh… You know. Continuing to exist."

The younger woman suddenly looked slightly saddened and Hermione, who recognised the signs, said, "Nasty breakup?"

"How did you know?" said Ebony with a confused smile.

"I've seen that look in the mirror far too many times."

Ebony nodded sagely, "Who was yours?"

"Draco." answered Hermione without hesitation. She had nothing to hide.

"I thought so. You two were together at Hogwarts weren't you?"

"Yep. Lasted just under a year."

Ebony looked empathetic, "You don't have to tell me if it's too personal but what happened? You seemed really happy together from what I remember…"

Hermione shrugged, deciding to be vague because she did not want to pollute Draco's reputation in any way. "I don't think Draco's really figured himself out quite yet. He, uh, had trouble showing his loyalty."

"Ah. I think I know what you're talking about." Ebony responded with a shrewd look.

"How?" asked Hermione, nonplussed. As far as she knew, what had taken place with Harry and Voldemort's wand was not widely known. In fact, the Ministry had worked rather hard to keep it entirely secret.

"There isn't much that the Department of Mysteries doesn't know to be honest." Ebony answered matter-of-factly, "There's always been a lot of interest in the connections between Harry and Tom Riddle. Obviously I can't say how deep that goes or whether or not those connections have been investigated thoroughly but there are records down there that are pretty detailed, we know more than I think the wizarding public would be comfortable with. The Minister shares a lot with us."

Hermione connected the dots of what Ebony was trying to say, even though she couldn't outright say it. Essentially, it sounded like Kingsley had told the Department of Mysteries everything that had taken place and Ebony had simply read all about it years later.

"Well… yes. It had to do with those events. But that was years ago. Who was your messy breakup then?" she asked, taking a sip of champagne.

"You remember Noah?"

Hermione took a moment to think. "Wasn't he the one who made fun of you all the time?"

Ebony chuckled cynically, "Yep. He and I sort of got together in seventh year but… we broke up about a year ago. He said I was too serious."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry to hear that. It gets easier. I promise."

The younger woman waved a dismissive hand through the air. "Oh, I know. I'm being melodramatic really. It's just that… since he left my life has been work and that's pretty much it. It's like I lost the ability to do anything else."

Hermione was rather touched by the Ebony's openness. She was so used to her work environment where people worked hard to hide their feelings that it was refreshing to talk to someone outside her friendship circle who was so easy going. She felt for the girl. "Well you should come and hang out with us sometime. The tovarasi. Remember that? From school?"

Ebony looked excited, "Yeah! Who wouldn't! You guys were like… the coolest! It's awesome that you still hang out!"

Hermione chuckled and shrugged, "It's hard not to, to be honest. We all work together or live together or are related to each other. We're all too tangled in each other's lives to do anything else now. I can introduce you if you'd like."

Ebony looked self conscious, but Hermione did not wait for a response. She knew somehow, exactly the sort of life Ebony would have been living, one where her only company was the books she so desperately clung to and the memories of a love that'd spurned her. If Hermione could do anything to make that existence easier, she'd do it in a heartbeat. She linked her arm through Ebony's and steered her across the room towards Ron, Harry and Ginny.

"Susan, Eli, Padma and Juliet don't work at the Ministry so they're not here. But you'll meet them soon enough." Hermione told her as the two of them approached the group. Harry looked up and gave them a relieved smile. "Hey guys, this is Ebony. She was at Hogwarts during our final year. Ebony, this is Ron, Harry and Ginny."

"Hi Ebony!" said Ron immediately taking her hand before Harry did the same.

"I think I remember you!" Ginny put in, flashing her glowing, pregnant, slightly manic smile. "You used to study in the library with Hermione all the time, right?"

Ebony nodded, grinning, "I did. I love your dress by the way!"

Ginny looked down self consciously, "Yeah I guess it would be nice… On someone several sizes smaller…"

"Well, I think you're pulling it off." said Ebony appreciatively. Something about the look that sprang onto Ginny's face then made Hermione a little frightened.

"Anyway!" she boomed madly before Ginny could take any offence to the entirely polite comment, "I'm just doing the rounds. Going to introduce her to the others. Bye!"

She steered Ebony away as the younger girl waved happily over her shoulder at the group.

"It's best not to speak to Ginny right now. She's not in the most stable of mindsets." Hermione said with a wry grin.

"How long has she got to go?"

"About a month and a half. It's only been really bad for about four weeks or so but… Yeah. I feel for her. I feel for _Harry_."

Ebony shrugged, "She's just scared. My sister just had a baby too and she was pretty bad in the last couple of months. At the time, she totally couldn't see it but afterwards she told me she was just terrified."

"Hmm." Hermione responded, frowning and feeling slightly guilty, "I've never really thought about it like that. I guess I find it easy to judge because I think the idea of having a child just fucking insane… but yeah it would be pretty scary if it happened. I should cut her some slack."

She had been rather unsympathetic towards Ginny in the last few weeks. Now, she thought maybe she'd been too hard on her.

At that moment, the two women approached the fountain where Isobel, Bo, Blaise, Cho and Draco were all sitting, talking animatedly.

Hermione was amused to see Blaise seize up as soon as he saw them approaching, though she could not fathom why. She was more interested in this though than the reasons behind the glare shot at her by Draco. He did that sometimes. She'd ceased to care.

"Hello darling!" said Isobel, beaming, before she looked to Ebony, "You've brought an Unspeakable!"

"I have!" Hermione responded, not surprised that Isobel knew who Ebony was. Isobel knew _everybody_. "Guys, this is Ebony Laurence. Ebony, this is Draco, Isobel, her partner Bo, Cho Chang and you've already met Blaise."

"I wouldn't really call that a meeting. I'm not sure monosyllabic grunting really counts as communication, what do you think Blaise?" said Ebony, grinning impishly.

"Um…" said Blaise.

Hermione laughed.

"So you work in the Department of Mysteries?" asked Draco with a winning smile, clearly thinking he could step up where Blaise would not.

"I do." Ebony replied shortly.

"And is that… interesting work?" Draco asked, moving to stand a little closer to her. He was such an obvious flirt, like he'd never really learnt to do it properly.

Ebony assumed an expression of disinterested boredom. "If I told you that, I'd have to kill you."

The group laughed. More at Draco's forced smile than anything else. Hermione wondered though why the younger woman was being so cold with him. Draco was clearly trying to charm her and she quite obviously wanted him to know she was entirely uninterested. Then, Hermione realised. Ebony was a Gryffindor. This was loyalty. They had, after all, only just finished having a conversation about it. Hermione felt a huge wave of affection for Ebony roll through her heart. She had to restrain herself from hugging the girl then and there.

"It's a wonder you can maintain an _authentic_ tan when you're down in the dark so much." Cho said snootily then, clearly jealous that Draco's attention had wandered off her.

Hermione caught Isobel rolling her eyes.

"Well we are let out of our cages _sometimes_," Ebony replied casually, then adopted a look of wounded bravery, "But most of the time we just have to make do with… _pale skin_."

Hermione patted her on the arm comfortingly. Ebony nodded her appreciation. Isobel and Bo roared with laughter. Cho looked satisfyingly pissed off.

"Personally, I don't think women with pale skin are really all that good looking." said Cho bitchily.

Hermione couldn't help smiling. She wasn't entirely sure what Cho was actually trying to do as Ebony had relatively dark skin, making her point sort of mute but she seemed determined to insult the younger woman.

But Ebony seemed even more determined not to be insulted and even Draco cracked a smile at what the dark haired witch said in response.

"If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong."

That undid Hermione entirely and she had to turn away to compose herself.

"I think it's time for a dance." said Bo when she'd regained her composure, grasping Isobel's hand and pulling her to her feet.

Draco immediately pulled Cho to his side with an air of defiance and Hermione began scanning the room for Ron.

She was just about to go looking for him when she noticed Blaise staring at his shoes and Ebony wearing a look of smug pleasure as her eyes rested on him.

"Blaise!" Hermione cried wildly, "Ebony doesn't have a partner. You should dance with her. Consider it an act of charity." she added, with a wink at Ebony.

He looked up, "Would you… do you…?"

Ebony rolled her eyes and moved forward, taking his hand and dragging him out onto the dance floor.

Hermione watched them go, grinning. Blaise looked like Christmas had come early and for just the briefest of moments, it was almost as if Hermione could see all the magic that filled the room, as if she'd taken the Goddess's Poison. She could almost see the thick green tendril winding its way up Blaise and Ebony's spines, leading from their skin and into the other person. She could almost see their connection being forged.

Someone appeared at Hermione side then, making her jump, and she looked up into the dark eyes of the Minister.

"Evening Kingsley." she said brightly, bumping him with her shoulder familiarly.

"Having a good time, Hermione?" he asked.

She shrugged, "Can't complain. Not a bad night on the whole."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." he muttered but, she noted, his tone was somewhat darker than hers.

"Is everything alright?"

He frowned. "I'm not sure if this is the right time to speak with you about this but there have been… some developments with the inquiry you so fervently insisted I make last year. I'm sure you remember."

"Oh, I do." she responded. In her mind, it had taken far too long for them to find anything and despite Kingsley's constant assurance that something was being done; it hadn't stopped her peppering him with owls every week.

He looked down at her seriously, "It is of the utmost importance that you do not repeat what I am about to tell you to anyone until the information has been released by the Ministry."

"You have my word." she responded, suddenly feeling quite sober.

The Minister nodded sternly, "We have apprehended an Auror that we know to be connected to Narcissa Black's case. It seems she was in cahoots with Lucius and managed to strongarm a few of her colleagues into her schemes. I do not know her motivations behind this as she has not been properly questioned but from what I can gather already, she seemed to feel she had some claim to Draco and wanted to punish him for… for being a blood traitor."

Hermione felt a crawling sensation up her spine; she leant in closer to Kingsley, "You wouldn't happen to be talking about Max Watson, would you?"

The look he gave her then was surprised and suspicious. "How did you know this?"

"I've had run ins with her before. So she's been arrested?"

Kingsley nodded. "Earlier this afternoon. I am… bothered that this crime could be committed right under my nose. I'm sorry I was so harsh with you when you brought this matter forward. I should have listened."

Hermione smiled kindly, "It's alright, I understand. You didn't want to believe it."

"No, I didn't. And that is not the way the Minister of Magic is supposed to behave. Nonetheless she will be punished for her crimes. Consorting with Death Eaters is not something I will take lightly."

"I'm glad to hear it." said Hermione appreciatively.

"Yes… well, I'll let you get back to it. I just thought you'd like to know."

"Thank you Kingsley."

With a stiff nod, the Minister walked away, leaving Hermione with a tingling sense of triumph. She'd never really forgiven Watson for the things she'd said and to know that her bigotry was finally being brought out into the light lifted Hermione's spirits. With that woman behind bars, they were one step closer to healing the breach the pureblood fanaticists had wrought on the wizarding world.

Hermione, downed her glass of champagne in one and decided that now, more than ever, she needed a dance. She went to find Ron.

He was exactly where she'd left him, standing with Harry, Ginny, Percy and Audrey, looking slightly bored.

"Come and have a dance." she said, tugging on his hand.

Ron smiled and twirled her. "I can't say no to you. Even when you're pissed."

"I am _not _pissed!" Hermione insisted as they walked out onto the dance floor and began bopping along beside Isobel and Bo. She wanted to tell him the real reason behind her good spirits but knew that it was important she remain silent on the subject. Let them think she was drunk. That was fine with her for now.

"Hermione! Can you do the twist?" called Isobel. Hermione immediately gleefully complied. "See? You're pissed!"

Hermione cackled. Perhaps she was. But only a little bit.

* * *

Ron apparated them both home at two o'clock in the morning.

When they arrived, the freezing wind whipped Hermione's hair about her face, the scent of the country air filling her nostrils, such a contrast from the smoggy smell of London.

The house loomed white in the valley below them, surrounded by hills and paddocks, not unlike the Burrow. Of course, in the end, Hermione had won the argument as to what kind of place they'd get. Their new home was built in the fourteenth century.

There was a certain wild look to the country around it and to the house itself. It reminded her of Hogwarts even though it was not a castle, nor were its walls exposed stone. Still, it had that ancient feeling, magic woven deep into its foundations.

It was three stories high with a low, rock wall surrounding the small but quaint garden. Inside was almost medieval in its structure, many wooden beams across the high ceilings, stone floors, long, tall windows, wrought iron chandeliers and large fire places could be found in every room.

Even Ron liked it. He said it was cosy. Together, it seemed they'd managed to bring a piece of Hogwarts into their own home. It even had a dining hall, though nowhere near as large as the great hall.

Ron and Hermione made their way down the grassy hill, giggling and stumbling slightly. The night air was freezing against her skin, but Hermione felt unaffected, happy as she was.

"Did you see Blaise tonight? He's so in love." she giggled into Ron's shoulder.

"I never thought I'd see him act like that. He's worse than I was."

She chuckled, "Oh, no. I don't think that's possible."

"Hey, come on. I wasn't _that _bad." said Ron with a grin.

Hermione gave him a level look before he burst out laughing.

They reached the great oaken door of the house and Ron shouldered his way through it, dropping his keys in the bowl that sat on the hall stand. Hermione moved past him, up the hall and into the kitchen to set the kettle on.

As she busied herself making tea, Ron appeared behind her, hands on her waist.

"You looked beautiful tonight." he said lowly.

"I'll take that as a compliment despite the past tense." she giggled in response.

She shivered then, as his lips began peppering the back of her neck with kisses, making the hair on her arms stand up.

"We haven't christened the kitchen yet, Hermione." he said huskily. She loved it when he said her name like that, like it was a something sweet on his tongue, like it tasted good.

She turned around in his arms, not bothering to respond. There was that need again, the need to kiss him, to feel the softness of his lips and tongue against hers. And there was intent in that kiss. Tea would have to wait.

Before Ron could push her up onto the bench and wrap her legs around his hips, Hermione dropped down to her knees, her fingers fumbling on the buttons of his dress robes. She did this because she was still feeling that same giddy feeling of gratitude for him. She wanted to praise him, worship him like he deserved.

His cock was warm on her tongue, his hand tangled in her hair as it fell from its clasp. She knew so well exactly how he liked it now that the process came naturally to her. He liked it wet, liked to see the saliva actually dripping from her open mouth. He liked her to use her hands to follow her lips up and down his shaft. He liked heavy suction and when she lightly grazed his skin with her teeth. He didn't like deep throat. Which was good because she didn't either.

All of these things Hermione did then, occasionally moaning when his cock hit the back of her throat, just so he could feel the vibrations of her voice.

What she loved most about giving him head though, was the fact that he spoke to her. It wasn't dirty talk, never that, he just praised her. He'd tell her he loved her, that she was beautiful, a goddess, he needed her, couldn't live without her and he was going to come…

Hermione swiftly moved her mouth off him and stood up. This time, she allowed him to lift her onto the kitchen bench, hiking her dress up around her hips and pulling her underwear off.

There was no preamble, he pushed into her with a low groan, his fingers digging into her ass, breath hot on her face as his forehead came to rest on hers. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling at his body until it was flush against hers, their hearts beating against one another.

He fucked her hard, like he always did, a hand pressed squarely on her diaphragm, pushing her back against the tiled wall so that he could penetrate her more deeply.

The sound of his bare skin slapping against hers, his groans, her moans, their breathing filled the kitchen.

Soon, he came, and Hermione was moved as she always was by the absolute helplessness he displayed in the moment. She could have done anything to him then and he would have been powerless. She loved that she got to have that part of Ron, who was always so strong and dependable and calm to everyone else. She got have the beautifully wounded animal inside.

Then, he went down on her. It didn't take her long to join him in the post orgasm haze. Giddy grins were exchanged. After that, he made them tea and took her to bed.

His head nestled into the crook of her arm and chest as she read case notes for work on Monday. He slept.

* * *

_December 11__th__, 2005._

Her head hurt. Doubly so because it was Sunday. Why did that happen? Why did hangovers always feel worse on Sundays than they did on Saturdays? Damn Ron and his immunity. He'd jumped out of bed earlier that morning glowing, ranting about swaying birds and singing trees. He was probably still drunk.

The bright winter sunlight in Diagon Alley pierced her retinas brutally as she walked down the street from the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone around her looked so damn happy and really, she was contented too in a sickly, deranged sort of way.

She almost groaned at the sight of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes as it loomed at the end of the street. Why did the shop have to be so fucking bright and colourful? It sold hangover cures for fucks sake, was George actively trying to drive away his customers? She would almost have preferred to brave her acidic head ache than continue staring at it. But nonetheless, that was her destination and she pushed towards it, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the cobblestones.

When she walked inside, it was packed with Hogwarts students, home for the holidays and their vaguely disapproving parents. The cacophonous noise made Hermione want to throw up.

She found George behind the counter next to Juliet, both of them furiously smiling, serving customer after customer. There was something off about the space that hung between them. Hermione had visited them at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes many times before and she was sure that feeling hadn't been there.

When George caught sight of her, he rounded the bench and picked her up in a crippling bear hug.

"How was last night?" he asked, far too loudly, looking manically jubilant.

Hermione could only grunt in response.

"I suppose you'll be wanting some of our patented hangover cure then?" she nodded and he turned back towards the counter, bellowing, "Hey Jules! Could you mind the shop for a mo?"

"Sure!" Juliet replied brightly, with that same manic expression. What was going on?

George took Hermione by the arm and led her into the back room, she followed dazedly. He seized a small vial off one of the shelves and, strangely, then led her through the back door with no explanation as to why.

She was confused.

"Where're we going, George?" she moaned as he set off back up Diagon Alley, her stumbling along behind him.

"I fancy a walk." he responded simply.

She wanted to scream at him. Did she really look in the mood for a walk?!

His hand remained firmly on her arm as they made their way up the street and when they reached the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, George wordlessly turned her into darkness.

When she opened her eyes, the light was even brighter than that of Diagon Alley, if that were possible. Once she'd adjusted to it though, her head pounding, she found that George had brought her to the seaside.

"Here." he handed her the vial and Hermione took it, frantically flicking off the cork and pouring the entire thing down her throat. Instantly, a soothing cool spread through her limbs and into her head. The aching in her muscles, her pounding head, the foul turning of her stomach slowly subsided. She felt slightly lightheaded with her new sense of vigour and health and was almost glad for the surroundings. She felt a rush of wellbeing and wondered, not for the first time, whether George added cheering charms to the hangover cure or if it was just her relief at not feeling so awful anymore. Either way, she felt cheerful.

"Better?" asked George.

"Much." she responded gratefully, "But why am I suddenly standing on a beach in the middle of winter?"

George shrugged. "I needed to get out of the shop, you were the perfect excuse."

She noted then that the madly jubilant aura that had hung around him only minutes earlier seemed gone. This worried her.

"Are you alright George?" she asked, laying a hand on his arm.

His face looked strained, like he wanted to say something but was having an incredibly hard time forming the words. After a moment, in which he looked at Hermione desperately, hopping a little on the spot, he found his voice and barked, "I slept with Juliet!"

"You _what_?!" she demanded, her voice shrill.

His eyes closed and a look of disgust crossed his face. "I know. I know how fucked it is. It was late… she was closing up the shop and then she just started talking about _him_… the way she says his name, like it's a prayer every single fucking time!" George's voice was broken.

Hermione wanted to put her hands over her ears. She wanted to tell him she didn't want to hear anymore. How could George do that? How could he act like everything was fine? Act the way he always acted and then suddenly switch? How did he hide his authentic self so well?

Finally he opened his eyes and looked out over the ocean. "I gave her half the business because I thought that's what he would have wanted and… and I mean the way she works, the way her _mind _works, it's not like she doesn't deserve it but now… I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like I'm only chasing after girls my brothers have wanted before me! First you, then Juliet… And now I'm dating Angelina Johnson and they went to the Yule ball together!" he gave a cynical laugh, as if he was repulsed by himself.

"George… I… I don't think…" she had no idea what to say, no clue how to make him feel any better. The worst part was seeing how much he really hated himself, it was written so plainly all over his face.

George's eyes turned to her then, full of desperation, "The whole time while we… we were doing it, she was looking at me and I just knew she was seeing him, not me. Just like you were seeing Ron. I'm always someone else."

Hermione shook her head fervently, "I can assure you George, I was _not _seeing Ron. Do you really think I'm that sick? And I don't think Juliet would be like that either, she's better than that. You two have worked together for almost five years now; don't you think she would have started seeing you as your own person at some point?"

But George seemed past consolation. He looked quite mad. His hands flew up, his arms wrapping around his head and he sat heavily down on the sand, his head between his knees. She could hear his sobs in her bones.

This was something new to her, this grief. George, she felt, would have been the one person she knew who felt the worst effects of the war. Almost six years on now and almost everyone had reached some semblance of normalcy, had rebuilt their lives to some degree. But not George, he'd started rebuilding the moment the battle was over, but he'd never recovered. Not like the rest of them had.

And she didn't know if he ever would.

Hermione sat down next to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, leaning her head against his.

This was all she could do. She couldn't say anything to make it better; all she could do was hug him. And she hoped desperately that that alone might help, even just a little.

He continued to cry, those awful, ugly great heaving sobs that tore at every muscle. She knew what that crying was like. It was the only way she could sympathise with him really. She knew the kind of emotions that pushed out those kinds of tears.

She couldn't understand why he'd chosen to speak to her, maybe it was because she'd just come along at the right time, maybe it was because she alone knew that they'd been together, or maybe he just thought she'd understand. But she didn't. She didn't know what to do for him. If anything she wished there were some sort of spell or potion that she could give him to make it all go away. Maybe he could be a heroin addict. Then he wouldn't have to feel anything but euphoria. She knew how fucked it was but she almost suggested it, just so she'd never have to be there doing that again.

Her and George had shared something once. And no matter how fleeting, it had sealed a kind of bond between them. It hurt her when he was in pain. She'd do anything to stop it.

"George…" she said after a while, without really knowing what to say if not her honest opinion, "I think… I think you should take some time to figure out what you really want. Think about it like this, if you have no feelings for Juliet, if what you did was purely an animal response to the fact that she's a beautiful woman, then that's fine. It's ok. Really. I mean, it's just sex, isn't it? And if she _was _seeing Fred in you, then you've given her a gift, haven't you? In some way… If, on the other hand, she was seeing _you_, then that's more complicated." she took a deep breath, "And you and I… Well… I don't regret it. I did it because I was attracted to you and you were there and I was in pain. I wanted to feel something. You made me feel something. Just… what is it that you want? Really?"

He seemed to think about all this for a moment, a frown creasing his brow as his hands sifted through the sand between his knees.

"I want a life. I want someone to love _me_." he said brokenly after a minute.

She didn't know what to say to that except, "George… People do love _you_. Perhaps even Juliet. You don't know, do you? Perhaps you should endeavour to find out."

George nodded sagely, wiping his wet face on his sleeve before digging in his pockets for something. A second later, he produced a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Without a word, he pulled out two, put them both in his mouth, lit them and handed one to Hermione.

She took it and immediately transferred it to her mouth. She'd never smoked before, never been that kind of rebellious teenager, but right then, she felt an irresistible pull towards the forbidden. That conversation had rocked her so much, brought up so many old feelings that she'd do just about anything to put them all back in the box in her mind where they belonged. Nicotine wasn't heroin. But it was certainly something.

And it was sort of nice, once the initial bout of coughing subsided. She'd thought it would hurt more, taste worse, but that wasn't the case. She understood entirely why people could be addicted and she kind of thought she might be too, even after only a few drags.

"You're right." said George suddenly. "You're always right, Hermione."

"Have you ever thought about seeing a mind healer?" she asked then, taking another drag of the smoke.

George grimaced, "I don't know, maybe. I guess I've thought about it but I don't know if it'll help."

"Well… look at me. Remember what I was liked just after I left the Burrow?"

He gave her a watery grin, "Of course. You were a mess."

"And I'd still _be _a mess if I hadn't started seeing Maya. I think I'd lose myself entirely if she wasn't in my life." Hermione looked thoughtfully out at the sea, rolling the cigarette between her fingers, "It's funny really, when you think about it, we're taught in school how to control our magic, how to be good at it, but we're never taught how to be a good person. We're just expected to figure that out, aren't we? They'll spend seven years straight teaching you how to turn a rat into a teacup, but not how to live your life. So I guess that's what mind healers do. They teach you how to be good to yourself and good to others. They teach you how to be with pain and happiness. And it works."

"You're selling it pretty well." said George honestly.

"Will you think about it?"

He gave her a long look before saying, "Yeah, alright."

And that was that. They finished their cigarettes, hugged, and apparated back to their separate destinations, George to the shop and Hermione to her home.

Ron wasn't there when she got back and a cursory glance out the back window of the kitchen told her he, Draco, Blaise, Harry, Eli and Dean we playing a match of quidditch up on the hill. She'd go up and watch them soon as she could see a couple of people sitting nearby on a rug that would probably have been some of the girls.

But for right then, she needed to sit and have a cup of tea. She needed to think.

Hermione didn't really know what it was about her conversation with George that had really rocked her. Maybe she just felt triggered by it. Whatever it was though, she felt as if she was looking down at her life from above now, seeing all the stains, all the smudges where she'd fucked up or gone through trauma dotting the landscape.

She'd told George he could always come to her if he needed to talk, but would that be enough? Would that really change anything?

She felt helpless, crippled and alone. She wanted one of her mum's hugs. She wanted… something else.

All at once, she felt as if the kitchen she was sitting in was totally foreign, like she'd never seen it before. She and Ron had actively participated in the building of that life, had hand chosen every person in it, personally picked out the colours and the feelings. They'd built it together. And yet, it still felt like a world she didn't belong to right then.

She was filled with a mad sort of yearning to be back at her flat in Diagon Alley with the blue tiles in the kitchen, the Persian rug on the floor, her four poster bed, her books, the omnipresent sounds of the streets below. She wanted to be lying under her doona, wondering if she could make it work with Draco, sitting on her couch teaching him how to eat Tim Tams, standing there in the mess left by the war where everything was shattered and broken but seemed so much more exciting, so much simpler.

What was her life now? Making money, she _hated _money, defending Death Eaters, hosting dinners, going to Ministry events, thinking about marriage and children. With Ron. Ron who was always so calm and strong and dependable, who saw the good in everything, who was just so fucking _normal_ all the time.

What would he have said to George, she wondered? Would he have had a smoke with his broken brother? Would he have listened? Or would he have judged and walked away?

She used to be a little girl once, even though she never acted like it. Now she wasn't anything like that anymore. And the war hadn't taken that innocence away; the war had only strengthened her. She knew that now. No, this life was what had stolen her innocence. There was nothing innocent about making money or defending Death Eaters. Where had her morals gone?

When had she become the sort of person who could offer a suffering friend a simple 'owl me if you need me' kind of comfort?

Her mind was taking her down a very dark track. She could feel her thoughts poisoning each other, using that darkness to multiply. It would not do for her to sit in this.

After a few more moments, she got to her feet and set out a tea tray which she charmed to hang in the air in front of her. She then made her way out the back door and began to traipse up the hill towards the quidditch match.

Her hands shook but she ignored them.

Stretched out on a huge, tartan blanket, cocooned in a warming charm, Hermione found Luna, Padma, Ebony and Ginny who let out a cry of greeting at her approach.

"Fancy seeing you here!" she said to Ebony, forcing a smile up onto her face. She noted with amusement that the girl seemed to be wearing a pair of black tights and one of Blaise's shirts.

"I don't think you're _that _surprised." the younger woman replied with a wry grin.

Hermione giggled, "Maybe not. It's nice to see you've met Luna and Padma…"

She settled down on the blanket between Ebony and Ginny who let out a morose sigh and looked longingly up at the match. "I wish I could play or at least ride a broom…"

"Only a couple more months, Gin, and you'll be back out there." said Padma encouragingly.

"I know… But I mean, look at this!" she held her hand out, gesturing aggressively up at the match as she spoke, "Harry's completely lost his form, Draco looks like he's trying to imitate a fucking Hippogriff, and Blaise can't fly for shit! If I was up there, this match would have been over twenty minutes ago."

"Not everyone can be a professional quidditch player, Ginny." said Hermione with a grin.

"I'm going to make Harry lend me his firebolt." said the younger woman defiantly, heaving herself to her feet. Hermione, Luna, Padma and Ebony laughed as she strode purposefully out into the middle of the field and began hollering up at her husband.

The six players all paused their game when they noticed her and swept down to the ground, clearly thinking something was wrong. Harry looked pained when he realised what Ginny really wanted while the other boys roared with laughter.

Despite the jovial atmosphere, despite the warming charm, Hermione still felt a chill in her veins.

Rather than watching Harry make room on his broom so that he might take Ginny for a ride while the other boys circled nervously below them, Hermione found herself looking out over the rolling hills, her eyes getting lost in the grey sky.

Something felt off inside her, something was turning rotten. It all felt so fake. The laughter, the quidditch match, the smiles, the talking. It came so naturally to her, the act, but for some reason, she felt like it was slipping that day. She couldn't do it as well as usual.

She tried to ignore it for the rest of the day to no avail. All she wanted to do was go to bed, to be alone, to think alone. Though, this wasn't a luxury she could participate in. All those people had expectations of her, to be happy, to be bright, to be a good hostess. And she tried, she really did.

That night, she and Ron fought.

He told her she was too serious.

* * *

A/N Ok, so I have a stomach flu. I hate the world right now and I've spent the last three days staring at this fucking chapter. I'm not overly happy with it but I'm hoping that's just my pessimistic attitude polluting my view of it and it's actually a masterpiece lol. ANYWAY. I have a few questions to ask in this authors note.

Number one, who wants me to get George and Juliet together for the marriage and the baby making? I know, I know, he's supposed to be for Angelina but… but… poor Jules needs love too! What do we think? I could go either way…

Number two, I'm quite liking the idea of possibly having a banner for this story/Victim of the Fall. Would any of you lovely chickadees like to do one for me?

And number three, just out of curiosity I was wondering when you guys most read fanfiction? In what setting, I mean. For me it's late at night, in bed with a cup of tea and a cigarette. Let me know!

Xx

Desdemona


	6. The Year of the Truth

6.

THE YEAR OF THE TRUTH

_19__th__ September, 2006._

Blaise was languishing at her kitchen table, twirling his wand between his fingers and looking blissfully contented.

Hermione herself felt exactly the opposite as she strode from one end of her kitchen to the other, cutting vegetables, depositing things in pans, and stirring various pots. The sound of sizzling and chopping filled the room, as well as the scents of the dishes she was preparing.

"Why don't you just use magic for all this?" Blaise asked blithely from his seat.

"Blaise!" she snapped in response, "I am a nationally respected lawyer, when do you think I would have had time to learn any basic household charms?! By rights I should be fucking _paying _someone to do this _for_ me!"

He shrugged, "You could always get a house elf."

Hermione glared at him and he quailed slightly under her vicious gaze.

She knew she was throwing a bit of a tantrum, knew that she was being somewhat ridiculous. But it was, after all, her birthday. Wasn't this the one day she was _allowed _to behave like a child? The one day she didn't have to pretend that nothing affected her?

At that moment, Blaise appeared at her elbow, wand in hand. With a few casual flicks, the vegetables were cutting themselves, the pans were stirring themselves and she suddenly found she had absolutely nothing to do.

She rounded on him, a look of surprise adorning her face, "Where on earth did you learn to do that?"

"Oh, you know," he replied with a casual sigh, "Between getting married and being a _nationally respected _Auror, one picks these things up…"

She blushed. He was pulling her up on her own arrogance. As he should.

"Sit down," he said, "I'm making you birthday tea."

Hermione sat and, moments later, picked up the tea he rather suddenly produced. He sat opposite her and gazed at her levelly over his own cup.

"What's really bothering you? I know it's not that you had to cook your own birthday feast because I know for a fact that there is a veritable hoard of helpers picketing your front lawn…"

Hermione grimaced, her fingers quivering a little around her mug. Blaise was far more perceptive than was good for him, though of course she would not reveal to him the reason behind her insistence at cooking. She'd woken that morning with a strange sense of disturbance, she wanted to cook because she didn't want to give her mind the opportunity to come alive.

"The numbers are odd," she answered feebly after a moment.

He looked at her blankly, "I'm sorry, what?"

Hermione sighed. She'd already started down that path, she may as well see it to the end. "The number of guests. It's an odd number. Seventeen. Everybody was bringing someone except Susan and Draco. But now… now he's bringing… bringing Astoria Greengrass."

Blaise gave her an uncomprehending look like he'd entirely missed her point. Hermione jumped to her feet, her hands gesticulating wildly as she attempted to explain again.

"Astoria! Blaise, I've never even fucking met her! And now she's coming to _my _birthday party! And he just… just _presumes _that I'll be ok with it. Like it's totally normal that he's introducing everyone to his _girlfriend_!" she ranted. It wasn't the whole truth behind her feelings, though it did play a part. It was good enough for that moment though.

"Hermione, I was there when he asked you if she could come. I heard you say yes. That's hardly a presumption," said Blaise levelly.

"Well I couldn't say no could I?! Can you imagine how that would have made me look?"

"Like you didn't want Astoria at your birthday party. Which is the truth."

"Yeah… well…" she mumbled grumpily.

"I don't see what your problem is, Hermione. She's nice."

"WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP SAYING THAT?!" she shrieked, throwing her hands up in the air.

Blaise looked nonplussed, "Because she _is_. And she makes Draco happy."

And that was the straw that broke the camel's back. _She makes Draco happy_.

It was those words, _happy _and _nice_. Positive words, easy words, much easier than _shame _and _guilt _and _cruelty_. Much easier than all the things Hermione was feeling. That's probably why Draco was with Astoria and not Hermione. Because the former was easier and the later had a mind that was in a constant state of chaos.

She sat down heavily at the kitchen table. "I don't know what's wrong with me today…"

It was a statement meant for her more than him. She _didn't_ know. She hadn't felt this bad in a very long time. It felt like it had come up suddenly, out of nowhere. But had it? She'd always felt like that, every time her depression finally found her again, like it had sprung into being over a period of days, but in hindsight she always saw it had been coming on for a lot longer than that…

"You're stressed," said Blaise simply, "That's understandable, Hermione. Practice a little bit of self-acceptance here."

She sighed with weight, "Yeah. I'm trying."

"You know what I think you should do?"

"What?"

"I think you should go upstairs, take a long hot bath, have some alone time and let us finish all this up."

"Do you think anyone would mind?" she asked quietly, feeling far too defeated to put up any more of a fight.

He rolled his eyes, "Hermione, we wanted to do it all from the beginning but you're such a control freak you insisted on doing it all yourself! Of course no one will mind…"

"Ok," she said with resignation, "I'm… I'm sorry for me today."

_I'm sorry for me every day._

"It's alright, I understand. And anyway, it's your birthday, you can cry if you want to, right?"

"Thanks… Is Ebony upstairs?"

"Yep, eagerly awaiting a call down to the kitchen, just like everyone else."

"How's wedded bliss going anyhow?" her voice sounded hollow in her own ears, she hoped Blaise wouldn't notice.

She was in luck. A brilliant smile lit up his face then. It was a little bit infectious.

"It's fucking brilliant."

"What happened to, 'I'll die a bachelor', huh?" she asked, grinning.

"I never thought I'd live to be married," Blaise laughed.

No one else had thought it either. Blaise, like Susan, had seemed perfectly happy to remain forever single, meaning that absolutely everyone had been more than shocked and surprised when Blaise came back from a holiday in Spain with his new girlfriend, whom he'd only been seeing for a whole three months, with the news that they had eloped and were now married. The way that he and Ebony were with each other, even then, would have made people think they'd been together for years. They were always so familiar, so comfortable, after Blaise had gotten over his initial shell shock that is.

Hermione was happy, unbelievably happy for them. She loved having Ebony around all the time, loved that she was now as much a part of the tovarasi as Blaise was.

It was strange really, what had initially started out as a group of ten incredibly damaged teenagers, was now a group of sixteen adults, all of whom were closer than any friends could ever be. Hermione had, of course, brought Ron, Ginny had brought Harry, Luna had brought Dean, Isobel had brought Bo, Blaise had brought Ebony and more recently Juliet had brought George after the former had finally come forward and told her how he felt. The family grew and evolved with each new member.

And now, would Draco bring Astoria?

"So when are you and Ron crossing over to the dark side then?" asked Blaise, dragging Hermione from her contemplation.

"Huh?"

"When are you getting hitched?"

She laughed uncomfortably, "Uh… We haven't really talked about it. There's no need, is there?"

He shrugged, "Well, it's in the air. Half of us are married already. Me and Ebby, Harry and Ginny, Padma and Eli, Luna and Dean… Isobel and Bo have been engaged for ages…"

"Well… I don't know. I guess it'll happen sometime. Eventually…"

She didn't want to think about it. Why? Why would she? Of course, there was that girly part of her, the one that had been a part of her since she was very little, the one that dreamed of the perfect wedding, that dreamt of the colour of the flowers and her blue dress and her knight in shining armour. But that little girl was far away from the woman she'd become. She didn't want to get married just because everyone else was doing it. She wanted to get married because it felt right.

Did it feel right then? On her twenty sixth birthday? When she and Ron had been together for six years? She didn't know…

Hermione stood up abruptly. "Ok, well I'm going to go and have a bath. Are you sure you can manage everything?"

"We'll be fine!" Blaise responded with a long suffering smile.

He escorted her to the top of the stone stairs that led to the kitchen and into the sitting room, where Ginny, Harry, Ebony, Padma and Susan were all sitting, nursing bottles of butterbeer. They looked up expectantly when Hermione and Blaise entered.

"Are we allowed to help now?" asked Susan.

Hermione smiled and nodded.

All five of them immediately leapt to their feet as Ginny said, "Thank fucking god."

Hermione left them to it and began to ascend the stairs up to the top floor where her and Ron's bedroom was situated.

For some reason, it felt like a long walk. The echoes of her friends preparing her birthday feast down in the kitchens followed her up the stairs and into the bedroom where she disrobed, feeling disassociated and a little frightened of herself. She made her way into the ensuite bathroom and ran the bath, taking a moment to try and sink into the tranquillity of the scene. She loved her bath, had handpicked it herself a year ago. It was long, wide, and deep, and stood up on ornately carved legs. The ceramic was a sort of sea green, making her feel like she was swimming in a creek every time.

Hermione languished in the hot water, feeling it sink through her muscles and into her bones. Everything around her felt slow, lethargic, blissful. She was glad Blaise had suggested this. Her body had needed to relax.

Her mind though, as per usual, did not switch off. She was thinking about what Blaise had said, and how everyone in the tovarasi had seemed to have paired off quite neatly.

Blaise himself was obviously still giddily swaying through the honeymoon phase of his own marriage, but Hermione had the feeling that he and Ebony were the sort of people who'd never come out of that properly. They were too happy together. Even when they fought, it was with smiles on their faces.

Harry and Ginny were model parents, obviously, in a way that was almost sickening. Their one year old James was everything that was perfect about both of them, the image of Harry with Ginny's fierceness. After the birth, it seemed that they'd both taken lessons in Zen. _Nothing _could stress them out.

Luna and Dean were just hilarious in every possible way. She was insane while he was so _normal_, but they complemented each other perfectly. Hermione could not imagine them ever fighting, they were both so damn tolerant of each other. Their wedding had been _huge_, not in the sense that there were a lot of people, in fact there were only about forty, but it was such a production. This was Luna though. Hermione couldn't have imagined it any other way.

Isobel and Bo were… well… they were _IsobelandBo_. A force to be reckoned with. Full of passion and fire and emotions. Hermione had heard them have the most fantastic screaming matches. The sort where she kind of wanted to grab a bucket of popcorn and sit down to watch it play out. But they were so in love. Their fights never lasted long.

Padma and Eli, Hermione was a little worried about. They were both always at work, barely saw each other. Despite the fact that they'd gotten married at a small ceremony earlier in the year, Hermione almost thought they were husband and wife in name only. Eli was always at Hogwarts and Padma was always at St Mungos. The only time they got to see each other during term was when a Hufflepuff student had gotten seriously injured. That or when Eli specifically took time off like he had for Hermione's birthday. Though, when she _did _see them together, they seemed happy enough.

Juliet and George were… they were odd. It was almost like they were together _specifically _because of Fred. Juliet was like a female version of George's dead twin, and of course George was a carbon copy of Fred. Was there anything wrong with that though? Hermione didn't know. On the one hand, it was sort of sad, two people brought together by the death of someone they'd both loved in the deepest of ways. But on the other, it she thought it was nice. They clearly made each other happy, had this wonderful way that they bounced off each other. Neither of them had that awful funk of grief hanging around them anymore. They weren't lonely. They made each other laugh. She liked them together, no matter the reasons.

And then, of course, there was her and Ron, wasn't there? Completing the set. And they were content in a slow sort of way. They'd fallen into that routine now, surprising that it had taken so long, where they were so familiar with each other that they rarely even needed to speak. Was Hermione bored? No. She was comfortable. Ron's scent still had the same effect on her, his hugs still made her feel warm and safe. Was she sexual unfulfilled? Not in the slightest. Was she happy? That was a somewhat more difficult question.

She was glad, ultimately, that after all the hurt she'd been through, all the trauma she'd suffered, Ron was reward she got at the end of the day. With Ron, there was no more suffering. Except, of course, on the days they argued. That was hard. But what couple didn't argue?

The question of their happiness, she knew, relied more on the question of her own. And her own was where the doubt sunk in. It wasn't Ron, he was great; it was just her. She was still making the money she hated, still defending the Death Eaters who deserved prison, still being pressured about the marriage she didn't know if she wanted and the children she didn't think she could raise…

It was all a bit overwhelming. A few years ago, she'd been able to wave her hand dismissively and say she'd marry Ron eventually, start having kids _eventually_, but here she was, at twenty six, all her friends married, getting married, pregnant, having babies, and where was she? Still standing on the sidelines saying _eventually_? It was the same with work; of course, when she'd started, she'd been able to convince herself that she was doing good by the world because she took on far more cases she believed in than she represented convicted Death Eaters who should remain in prison. Now, it was the other way around; the worst Death Eaters paid the most, but since when had money become such an issue anyway? In the beginning it had been nothing more than an added perk. She'd grown too used to it now.

Something had to be done. Otherwise Hermione would lose herself entirely. She didn't want that.

She was frightened of herself. This darkness reminded her a little too heavily of the darkness she'd experienced in the past. But, fortunately, the fear was not as all-pervading as it once might have been. It didn't consume her. Because she knew, in the end, she had her mind healer, Maya. Yes, after all these years, Maya was still there, holding Hermione together. And this was her purpose, to be there in the moments when Hermione fell apart, moments like this.

They'd talked about the eventuality that her life would be hard at times. When Hermione was happy, she found it hard to think that life could ever be _that _bad again, but Maya insisted that the darkness would never clear entirely, that Hermione was no different to any other human being on the planet. She'd always get sad, and she'd always smile. It was how she chose to deal with those moments.

And how was she dealing with _this _moment? She was allowing herself to feel fear, to shame herself.

Hermione realised then that she must have been in the bath for over an hour. The light outside had faded into dusk and her fingers were wrinkled. She found it fascinating that she could spend that long simply staring off into space, lost in her own thoughts. Were they really _that _interesting?

She decided she would put all of this yuckiness, all of the darkness, out of her mind until her next session. She'd try to do exactly what Blaise suggested. She'd try to accept herself. And if she failed at doing that, she'd try and accept that too.

That's how the dance went.

With a sigh, Hermione hoisted herself out of the bathtub, pulled out the plug and began to dry off. As she wandered back into the dark bedroom and lit the lanterns she decided she'd like to make an effort on her appearance that night. While it was sorely tempting to just stumble down stairs with her hair half dried in track pants and a tee-shirt and begin demanding wine, she thought she could do better than that. Not that the tovarasi wouldn't have embraced her choice, they would have applauded it. But she wanted to feel pretty, wanted to do something for herself. At least for tonight.

Hermione threw open the doors of her armoire and began leafing through clothes. Eventually she decided on a black cotton dress that fell to her ankles, with sleeves that reached her elbows. It was casual, just a sun dress really, but the colour suited her skin and with some makeup and a few accessories, she could glam it up a bit.

After slapping on some hasty eye liner, some earrings and a long silver necklace, she deemed herself done. She decided against shoes and didn't even bother with her hair. Wild and curly suited the dress and her bare feet. She was working the hippy look.

Perhaps if she _looked _the part, her heart would follow.

After that, Hermione went downstairs and found the entire party draped around her sitting room. Evidently, the rest of her expected guests had arrived while she was in the bath. She spotted Astoria, holding tight to Draco's hand over in the far corner.

While she would have loved to invite many other people to her birthday dinner, such as Dawn or Teodora or her parents, it seemed more economical to just have a subdued dinner with her friends. Anything larger than the already over large group of seventeen would have stressed her too much.

The moment the company noticed her, a great cheer filled the room, accompanied with cat whistles from George. The attention had a mixed effect on her. On the one hand, she felt buoyed by it, allowed it to fill her with light and confidence, but on the other, she wanted to hide in the linen cupboard until everyone left.

Ron came forward and gave her a long hug, "Happy Birthday babe, sorry I wasn't here when you woke up," he said into her hair.

"That's alright. Was everything ok at work?" she responded in an affectedly light tone, knowing that under no circumstances would she share with him what the beginnings of her day had been like.

"Yeah. Just some of the new auror recruits not taking too well to their training," he responded, rolling his eyes.

Then, someone pushed a glass of wine into her hand and music began to drift out of Remus Lupin's old record player. She resisted the urge to guzzle gracelessly at the alcohol she held. If anything, she wanted to remain somewhat sober that night, not least because she had such a fantastic time watching everyone else get drunk but because she didn't want to give herself any excuses to be a drama queen. Alcohol had that effect on her. Still, the pull to get herself properly smashed was tempting. But she'd learnt that oblivion tended to be much more trouble than it was worth in the end.

Hermione allowed herself to be metaphorically passed around the room from person to person as she was wished a happy birthday and participated in far too many meaningless conversations than her mind could really handle.

It was only a matter of time though, before Draco was tapping her on the shoulder and saying, "Hermione? This is Astoria."

The moment had arrived and Hermione noted the tiny amount of suspense that seemed to come off certain members of the company then, such as Ebony and Isobel, Hermione's most loyal companions. She braced herself as she took in Astoria's appearance up close.

The younger woman was pretty. In a typical sort of way… Thin. Dark brown hair. Tanned skin. Pouting lips. This was the sort of woman that the handsome-even-when-howling-like-a-child Draco Malfoy was supposed to be with. And Hermione hated her for it.

"Hi Astoria," said Hermione in what she hoped was a warm tone. Heads were turned in their direction. She hoped that she was the only one to notice, and wished her friends could behave with a little more tact.

"It's so nice to meet you, Hermione. Thank you for saying I could come," said Astoria, actually pulling off the warm tone Hermione had been going for. "I've been so looking forward to finally spending some time with the tovarasi! Draco talks about you all the time!"

Hermione resisted the urge to say that the only reason Draco himself was even there was because he rounded out the numbers.

"That's no problem. It's great to have you here," said Hermione instead, smiling. She thought she heard Isobel snort into her glass.

Their social exchange was steeped in awkwardness and it didn't take a mind healer to see that Astoria felt it too. What made it almost endearing to Hermione, in a strange sort of way, was that the younger woman so clearly wanted to get along with Hermione. She was making the effort.

They were fortunately spared from having any further conversation then as Blaise entered the room.

"Oi! Dinner's up!" he shouted and Hermione had to giggle. It wasn't quite as courteous as 'would you all please follow me into the dining hall' but it would do.

She was pushed forwards and Ron put his hands over her eyes. They led her down the hallway, the chattering voices of the group all around her, soft in her ears. Having her eyes covered almost allowed her a moment of semi solitude. It felt nice to hear all their voices around her, but be separate from them for a second. It was a moment in which she allowed herself to be comforted, when she allowed a little of the darkness in her head to flit away, even if just for the evening.

She was led into the dining hall where Ron removed his hands. Hermione gasped at the array of platters that covered the long, medieval looking table and her heart glowed as she took in the decor. They had enchanted candles to float in the air above the room and, rather miraculously, charmed the high ceiling to look like the night sky. Her birthday dinner was Hogwarts themed. There were even ties draped over every chair she noticed, eight red ones, three blue ones, four green ones and two yellow ones. A tie for each guest, according to their Hogwarts house.

She loved it. She loved every single bit of it. It brought into sharp relief that the people around her really knew her. They knew what she liked.

And then the darkness was gone altogether. Even if just for the night.

Hermione took a seat at the head of the table at one of the high backed chairs, letting herself smile unabashedly as everyone joined her. They spent a happy few minutes each putting on their ties. Ron tied his red one around his head, Bo wore her blue one like a scarf, Astoria looped her green one through the belt holes of her jeans and Juliet used hers like a red ribbon in her hair.

Hermione rather dangerously wrapped hers around her thigh like a garter amidst many catcalls. She felt freer for some reason, lighter. She wanted to make sure her friends had a good time, and she wanted to have a good time herself. It felt so nice not to be feeling bad that the relief alone boosted her mood even more.

This, she thought privately days later, was what had probably started the evening off. She'd set the tone.

Dinner spanned almost an hour and a half, and the mood was jovial and raucous, the exact sort of mood a party should have really, but there was another feeling in the air, something odd. There was a kind of tension hanging over the guests, Hermione could sense it. Excited anticipation. She wondered what they were hiding from her. By dessert, the feeling was making her jumpy. Her laughter was getting more and more high pitched and maniacal as time dragged on.

At the end of the meal, the table was cleared and presents were brought out, stacked in front of Hermione on the table, much to her embarrassment. When she unwrapped them, her heart grew even larger and warmer as she discovered that every single one was perfectly suited to her. From Ron, she got a long silver chain with an opal pendant, from Isobel she received black lingerie and a cheeky smile, from Susan she received a collection of hard back Jane Austen novels, from Padma and Eli, a collection of rare potions ingredients. And from Draco she got a stack of records, though the card was signed 'with love on your birthday, Draco and Astoria'. That may have pissed her off. But only a little bit.

When the final gift, which was the largest, sat alone on the table, she felt the tension in the air stiffen.

"This one's from all of us," said George, grinning wickedly.

"Why am I worried right now?" she responded wryly.

No one answered and so Hermione set about unwrapping the large, square package.

Inside, she found an ornate wooden chest, the lid to which she immediately lifted to reveal a bottle of tequila and a set of shot glasses, sitting atop yet another wooden box.

The company around her giggled.

Hermione opened the second box without preamble, her curiosity getting the better of her.

It contained seventeen tiny vials, full of a clear liquid that looked very much like water.

"What is this?" she asked suspiciously.

"It's Veritaserum," Harry supplied in a low, cheeky voice.

Isobel grinned wickedly, "We're going to play a game."

"Uh-huh. A game?" asked Hermione wryly. "Explain."

"Truth," said Ebony.

"We're all going to have one shot of the tequila, mixed with a vial of Veritaserum. Then we ask each other questions. And _no one _will be able to lie," Blaise said, looking jubilant.

"Right," Hermione responded. Of course, among any other crowd of people, this might be rather innocent. Sort of like truth or dare in the muggle world, without the dares. But with the tovarasi… she didn't know if she liked the idea. There was too much history. All someone needed to do was ask one wrong question…

"Come on babe," said Ron then, responding to her silence, "We haven't got anything to hide in this group. It'll be fun."

Fun. Right.

After a moment's thought though, in which Hermione reminded herself that she had been masochistically hoping for a little more danger in her life, she decided to go along with this little game, acknowledging that this decision was probably spurned by her slightly manic mood, "Alright… But under one condition! No one is to ask each other about their work! I can't divulge things about my clients, and I know that many of you have sensitive information under your hats too. So no work questions. Understood?"

The group all agreed before letting out a triumphant cheer.

With a feeling of resignation and masochistic glee, Hermione pulled out the bottle of tequila and shot glasses and began filling each tiny glass with half a shot of the alcohol. When she had filled all seventeen of them, she began adding the vials too.

With this achieved, she handed the shot glasses out to her friends.

"One! Two! THREE!" cried Harry and Hermione downed the entire glass along with the rest of the group.

She grimaced as the alcohol burnt down her throat, despite its slightly diluted state. "I fucking hate tequila," she said, without thinking, "Really good way to get my clothes off though,"

The group roared with laughter as she slapped her hands over her mouth.

Once the mirth had died down, George said, "Alright Hermione, it's your birthday. You go first. Ask one of us a question,"

"Hmmm…" she said, scratching her chin and looking around at them all. Put on the spot like that, it was hard to think and so she asked the first thing that came to her head. "George, what's the first thing you notice about women?"

He grinned and leant sideways into Juliet, taking a length of her hair between his fingers, "Her tits," he said, before looking shocked. Juliet batted his hand away, looking amused and scandalised. He laughed, "Fucking hell, this stuff really works. I meant to say her tits. I mean, her tits! FUCK!"

Hermione was beginning to think this had been an excellent idea. Already, she was in stitches.

Once the group had hiccoughed themselves to silence George said, "Ok, ok… My go," his eyes turned to Padma who looked alarmed, "Padma, if Eli wasn't around, who here would you prefer to kiss?"

She did not even have time to think before she said, "Harry. But only because I missed out after the Yule ball. He was a lousy date!"

"Hey! You went off with some guy halfway through!" cried Harry, looking suitable outraged.

"Only because you wouldn't dance with me!" she responded, laughing, "ANYWAY! My question isn't it? Alright… Hmm… Isobel, who's the oldest person you've slept with?"

Isobel rolled her eyes, grinning and looking slightly disappointed at getting such an easy question, "Well of course, it's Bo! She's six years older than me!"

"Oh!" said Padma abruptly, "I always thought you would have slept with one of the professors at Hogwarts!"

Isobel cackled, "Padma! Fucking hell! What kind of reputation did I _have_!?"

"A pretty good one by the sounds of it," said Blaise wryly.

"Shut up, Blaise! My rep is _nothing _on yours!" Isobel exclaimed, "My question! Astoria, would you rather casual sex or meaningful sex?"

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes. And because she had just taken a huge dose of truth serum, she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. But she hid it behind her hands.

"Oh! Good question," Astoria giggled, before laying a hand soppily on Draco's arm, "I think, meaningful. Meaningful is so much better."

"Aw!" some of the girls chorused.

At that moment, Hermione tried very hard not to think of anything at all else she either laugh at Astoria's sappiness or become violent.

The younger woman seemed intent to stay on that same line of questioning when she asked, "Eli, when was the first time you told Padma you loved her?"

Eli smiled fondly and took Padma's hand. "The night before we all went to Private Drive in seventh year, when we were sharing a bunk beside Hermione's bed."

Astoria looked politely confused. But everyone else looked uncomfortable. _That _question had hit just a little too close to home. Especially considering the traumatic and disturbing events that followed that night.

Eli seemed to sense the change in atmosphere though. He swiftly slapped his hand on the table in front of him and said loudly, "I've a question for Dean! Have you ever had a threesome?"

Dean grinned, "Nah… If only."

Hermione could tell he didn't mean to say the second part of that sentence. Dean looked like someone had hit him in the face with a brick and it was that hilarious expression which brought laughter rolling across the table in his direction.

Luna, in true character, undid the whole room entirely moments later. "I wouldn't mind," she said vaguely, "I've always wanted to know what girls taste like."

Dean blushed furiously as the group guffawed. After a moment, seeming as if he would very much like the heat taken off himself, he said, "Bo, what was your earliest lesbian experience?"

Bo smiled cheekily, "A Christmas party at my cousin's house. I was cornered in the bathroom,"

Padma suddenly let out a loud cry of indignation, "YOU TWO FUCKED AT MY CHRISTMAS PARTY!?"

Hermione turned her eyes to Isobel, her mouth open in shock. She'd always known that Bo and Padma were related but Isobel had always been very tight lipped about how she and Bo had begun their romance. Now she knew why. And it made sense too; after all, Isobel had said she'd met her new auror friend over the Christmas holidays all those years ago…

"When I want something, I go for it," said Isobel, giggling and shrugging.

Padma continued to look scandalised before Bo rolled her eyes, grinning, and said, "Get of your high horse, cuz, or should I bring up what happened _last _Christmas?"

Padma shook her head vigorously as Eli guffawed.

"Oh, I _really _think you should bring it up, Bo," said Ginny mischievously, "What happened last Christmas?"

Bo shrugged, attempting to look innocent, "Oh, nothing, I just caught my virginal cousin over here being screwed in our grandparents broom cupboard by a certain potions master…"

The whole table erupted in laughter as Padma's head fell into her hands in an effort to hide her embarrassment.

"Anyway!" cried Bo, "I should probably ask my question before she dies of shame, huh? Susan, are you sleeping with anyone right now?"

All eyes turned to the blonde haired Hufflepuff as a slow, sly grin crept up her face, "I could say no, technically, because the word _anyone_ would imply that you're asking whether I'm sleeping with just one person and that… is untrue."

"You're sleeping with _more _than one person?" demanded Juliet, laughing incredulously.

Susan shrugged, "Not at the same time… But seeing as you asked, Juliet, I want to know, how much money would it take for you to fuck a stranger?"

Juliet giggled and twirled her brown hair lazily around her finger, "Define fuck…"

Blaise chuckled, "Fuck, Juliet, like sex."

"I know what fuck means, Blaise, but I need specifics if I'm going to set a price!"

"Ok," said Susan quickly, "Straight sex, missionary."

"I'm offended by the usage of the word _straight _here," Isobel supplied, grinning.

Juliet giggled, "Ok, _normal_ sex. I guess I would charge… like… three hundred galleons?"

The group laughed as Blaise said, "Whoa! That's a bit steep?"

Juliet raised her eyebrows in challenge, "Are you suggesting I am worth less than that, Blaise?"

"I wouldn't know, I haven't slept with you," he responded, grinning impishly.

It was several moments before Juliet's question could be heard over the loud mirth of the party.

"Luna!" she finally managed to yell down the table, "I've always wanted to know, do you have any fetishes?"

Luna tilted her head to the side and gave Juliet an unnerving smile, "You've always wanted to know? Does my sex life fascinate you, Juliet?"

Before Juliet could answer through her blush, Harry said blatantly, "To be honest Luna, I think your sex life fascinates _everyone_."

The rest of the party all nodded in agreement. It was only then that Hermione realised Dean was blushing furiously.

"Really?" asked Luna, "Oh… That's interesting… Well, I guess I do. In a way. Sometimes me and Dean take polyjuice potion so that I can be the man and he can be the woman… That's quite fun."

A shocked silence met this confession. Dean had sunk so low in his chair that he was almost obscured from view.

"Um… What?" said Ron blankly after a moment.

"Wait," Isobel chuckled uncertainly, "Where exactly are you getting the hairs for these… activities?"

"Oh, we don't take them from any of you, just each other. But we'd be open to donations if any of you…"

Luna was cut off by the resounding "NO!" that flew at her across the table.

She shrugged, "Alright. My question isn't it?" she looked around at the party, "Hmm… Ok… Ebony, describe your husband's cock."

Ebony giggled and leant back in her chair, looking thoughtful, "I would so love to tell you all that it's tiny, but that wouldn't be possible. As it isn't. It really isn't. I guess… It's sort of long and thin, in a way. And it curves upwards and stands to attention like a little soldier. I mean, not _little_… Just little in comparison to an actual soldier…"

Blaise groaned as the rest of his friends cackled.

"Yeah, that's the only way I can think to describe it," said Ebony, patting Blaise's arm reassuringly, "It's very satisfying darling, don't worry. Anyway, my question is for Ron."

"Oh no," said Ron, looking sheepish.

"Are you dominant or submissive in bed?"

Hermione giggled as George's head fell into his hands, "This is my brother! I don't want to know _that_!"

"Yeah, let's not and say we did, shall we?" suggested Ginny looking a tad green.

But Ebony continued to look expectantly at Ron, paying his siblings no attention whatsoever.

Ron grimaced, "I… uh… I guess I'm dominant. Yeah, definitely dominant."

Ebony adopted a look of contrived innocence, "Why's that?"

Hermione shook her head and groaned, knowing what his answer would be before he even gave it.

He shrugged, smirking wickedly, "Because Hermione likes to be dominated."

Ebony's mouth fell open in amused shock as she stared between Ron and Hermione.

Hermione knew what was going to happen, was entirely ready to be reminded of her tyrannical work personality, ready for the jokes about how the know-it-all needed a bit of discipline. But before anyone could even utter a word, Draco suddenly spoke, his voice all astonishment.

"Really?" was all he said, looking so politely shocked that Hermione wanted the ground to swallow her up.

The laughter that followed shook the walls and Hermione joined in, if not a tad hysterically. That response had thrown her a little. And she wasn't alone in her feelings it seemed, Ron's smile was a little strained too.

Ron held up his hands in an attempt to placate the raucous group, "Yeah, yeah, don't all of you act surprised! Anyway, Blaise, I want to know how many people you've slept with. Men _and _women."

The smiled fell from Blaise's face and he looked pained, "Uh… I might need a minute…"

Hermione chuckled as he bent his head and began counting his fingers.

"This looks like it'll take a while," said Harry, laughing, "Would anyone like another glass of wine?"

Hermione immediately offered him her empty glass as he grasped one of the many bottles still sitting on the table and began topping them up while Blaise continued to mumbled quietly to himself.

Hermione sipped thoughtfully on her wine, feeling significantly cheerier than she had hours previously. It was nice to see how open everyone was. She knew, of course, that they were forced to be open by the potion they'd all taken, but there hadn't been any genuine embarrassment really and she liked that. She knew that they'd all probably be able to discuss this stuff without the Veritaserum, knew they were all comfortable enough with each other to do that. She'd never really had friendships like that growing up, especially as her two main friendships had been with boys, who were both shy about sex in their teenage years. It had turned sex into something of a taboo subject as she'd grown up, which wasn't good. But it seemed they'd all gotten over that now.

The table had split off a little into their own conversations as Blaise counted, until eventually he lifted his heads and said, "Alright. I have the answer!"

Everyone looked expectantly in his direction as Ebony mumbled in amusement, "This ought to be good…"

"Sixty three," he said proudly, "Yep… I think that's right."

Isobel giggled, "Just out of curiosity, can anyone here beat that number?"

Susan smirked, "If I counted, maybe."

Blaise grinned and held up a hand in her direction, "Maybe we should just move the game along. We don't want the potion to wear off now, do we? My question, is for Ginny! Which girl here do you think would give the best blowjobs?"

Ginny leant back in her chair, looking between her female companions thoughtfully, "Hmmm. Honestly, I think it's a toss-up between Luna and Hermione."

Hermione almost choked on her drink, "What?! Why me?!"

"Dunno," Ginny answered pensively, "You kind of have the mouth for it. And Luna's… well, I think her enthusiasm would lend her quite a bit of talent."

The party erupted into gales of laughter as Ron and Dean gave each other the thumbs up across the table.

Ginny then turned her head to Draco who looked alarmed and she giggled, "Don't look so scared Draco, I won't be too mean! Ok. I want you to describe to us, in detail, what your first kiss was like, where and how it happened."

Hermione groaned and Ginny's eyes snapped to hers, an air of realisation in her face. Hermione could tell that the younger woman had not known the answer to this question before she'd asked it. But she knew now. And Draco had no choice but to answer. Ginny had asked him to describe it in detail. And he'd have to do just that.

He looked pained, his eyes firmly planted on the table as he spoke, "It was, uh, new years in our seventh year…"

Of course, the moment he admitted this, the rest of the table, aside from Astoria, adopted Ginny's uneasiness. There was, after all, only one person Draco had kissed in seventh year.

After a moment, he continued, the words halting and uncomfortable as if he was trying to keep them in, trying to fight the potion's compulsion, "It was my first time out in muggle London and we had gone to the banks of the Themes to watch the fireworks. Me and… and this girl had been having a pretty heavy conversation I guess, and I just sort of made the decision to kiss her, because I wanted to and it felt right and… yeah. I just remember this feeling like there was nowhere else in the world I'd rather be than there with her and… and we'd been spending all this time together. I knew her scent so well. But I wanted to taste it, because it always smelt like it would taste good. And… and it did. She seemed hesitant at first but she didn't pull away… Yeah."

His speech wound down to an end and the whole table remained under the same tense, deathly silence. Hermione could see Ron's fist clenched in his lap, his mouth a thin, hard line. Only Astoria seemed entirely unaffected.

"That's really sweet," she said softly to Draco, putting her hand on his arm, "You sound like you really liked her."

Hermione wanted to bash her head on the table top. It was lucky Ginny had not specified that Draco say _whom _he'd kissed…

"I did," Draco responded tightly, as if he really did not want to speak any longer.

"You're question, Draco," Isobel declared, in a clear attempt to change the subject.

He nodded and downed his glass of wine in one before looking between Harry and Hermione, the only two people who had not yet been asked anything. Hermione felt her stomach turn as his eyes lingered on her for a moment before turning to Harry.

"Alright, Harry, how many of the girls in this room have you pictured naked?" he asked stiffly.

Harry chuckled, "Uh, I'm a man, Draco, I've pictured _all _of them naked."

Blaise laughed loudly and slapped the table. Ginny batted Harry's arm in mock outrage and the tension was broken.

"Harry!" cried Ginny indignantly.

He nodded and raised his glass, "True story. Some even at the same time."

The party erupted in laughter as Isobel said, "Three guesses who _that _was…"

Harry raised a suave eyebrow, "Wouldn't _you _like to know?"

Hermione giggled. Harry was such a lightweight, she could see he was already on his way to being quite drunk.

"Alright! Last one up, Hermione! Ready for your question?" cried George.

"As I'll ever be," she responded, raising her glass in his direction and turning to Harry who was looking at her shrewdly.

"Arighty then!" he shouted, taking a long swig of wine, "Hermione. Tell the group here, which people present you have kissed?"

Hermione gave him an entirely dumbfounded look. A look so full of hurt and shock that at first, his expression was confused. Then he seemed to realise just what he'd done.

"Oh uh, that's not my question, I take it back, uh…" he floundered.

But the damage had been done. He'd asked the question and now she had to answer it, could feel the words rising in her throat like vomit. She held up her hand in Harry's direction to stop his stream of stuttering reparations.

"It's alright, Harry," she said in a voice that was far too calm.

"Hermione, you don't have to, I didn't mean it…" he responded, grimacing.

"You do understand the principals of the Veritaserum potion, don't you? I _do_ have to," she said, with just a hint of accusation in her tone.

"Uh, maybe we could all just leave," put in George, looking panicked, "And you could just tell Harry the answer."

Ron chuckled in confusion, "What's the problem? We all know anyway!"

Isobel and George both opened their mouths to respond to this but Draco cut across them, "Not everyone," he said darkly. Astoria gave him a confused look.

Hermione couldn't contain it any longer, the potion was forcing her to comply and it had taken all of her willpower to remain silent as long as she had.

"There's Ron, obviously," she said over the top of the rising conversation, "And, uh, Dean. Once. In fifth year…"

Luna did not look exactly angry about this but her blue eyes narrowed slightly. Dean wore a troubled frown.

The mood of the evening was crushed. Entirely. And Hermione knew it.

"And, um, Isobel. Again, only once…"

"I'm sorry, what?" said Bo, looking angrily between Hermione and Isobel.

Hermione ignored her, she had to finish giving her answer, "And Draco, quite a few times…"

Draco had his hand up to his brow, Astoria looked stiff.

"And, finally," Hermione gave a hysterical sort of chuckle, "George."

The silence that followed was the most uncomfortable of her life.

"You kissed George?" asked Ron quietly, looking totally bewildered.

Hermione nodded.

"When?" he demanded, his voice beginning to rise.

"Seventh year… After I left the Burrow," she answered, her eyes cast down into her lap.

Ron nodded, his jaw working as his teeth ground together, "Right… right… And was this all you did?"

Harry and Draco both groaned as Hermione whispered, "No."

Ron lifted his hands to his face, rubbing his temples before he looked between Harry and Draco, "And you two both knew about this, did you? And you didn't tell me?"

Both men nodded, looking guilty.

Ron then spoke to the group at large, "How many of the rest of you knew?"

"Me," said Isobel stiffly.

"And me," put in Susan weakly.

"Me too," Blaise admitted lowly.

Ron laughed cynically, "Right. Awesome. So Hermione, was this before or after you fucked Draco?"

"Ron…" Harry growled angrily but again, Hermione had to answer.

"Before," she responded quietly.

He gave her a look then, one that she could read like a book. It said, _is there anyone you haven't fucked_?

The look crushed her. It was a striking picture of everything she'd been feeling all day, all week, all month, all year. She'd been feeling like she was a horrific person, like she was worthless. And the look Ron had just given her had confirmed it.

Hermione looked around at her friends, the people she was closer to than anyone else on the planet. Everyone looked either hurt, angry or confused.

But what could she do to fix it now? Stay and wait for Ron to ask her more questions she had no choice in answering? Wait for someone else to say something they couldn't take back?

Hermione stood abruptly and all eyes turned to her.

"I'm going out for a smoke," she said, avoiding the gazes of her friends as she stepped out from behind her chair and began to walk the long walk down the table towards the dining hall doors.

They closed with a loud bang behind her.

Hermione's hands were shaking as she set off down the hall, taking up her cloak from the hanger beside the front door and pulling it over her shoulders. She felt for her cigarettes and lighter in the cloak pocket before stepping out of the front door, into the chilly spring night air.

As she closed the door behind her, she heard the voices of her tovarasi raised in anger, echoing down the hall and she felt like an even worse person for leaving them all to deal with that. But what else could she do?

She walked a little way down the deck that stood in front of their house to take a seat in one of the low wooden benches that sat there.

Her body felt heavy, her mind even heavier.

Her lighter flickered in the dark night as she shakily lit her cigarette and inhaled that first, calming drag. She could feel the last of the potion seeping out of her system, hadn't been aware she could notice it there at all until she felt it dispersing.

Strangely, the fear she'd felt that morning had been replaced by numbness. A million possibilities presented themselves to the forefront of her mind, and each had less effect on her feelings than the one it proceeded. What if Ron couldn't get past this? What if he left her? What if she lost Luna and Juliet and Bo as friends because of her actions? What if their partners shunned her because they valued their romantic relationships more than her? What if Isobel was angry at her for telling? What if George or Dean were angry? What if all of them respected her less now? What if they thought she was a slut?

And why couldn't she care about any of that? Why couldn't the idea of losing all her friends, her partner, make her feel something more than detached indifference?

She'd become so cold. But hadn't she always been that way? Maybe none of them were surprised. Maybe they all considered her past actions totally in line with her dilapidated character…

Light suddenly spilled out onto the porch as someone opened the front door. Hermione did not look up. She didn't care who it was that had come to find her, didn't care whether they wanted to scream at her or comfort her. She was past it.

A moment later, light footsteps approached her seat before someone sat down next to her. Fire flared in the darkness as the person lit their cigarette and Hermione's head finally lifted, expecting to see George there beside her. But she was surprised.

"Astoria?"

The younger woman took a long drag of her cigarette and gave Hermione a sideways look, "Hi."

"What are you doing?"

"Same as you. Getting away from the screaming."

There was something incredibly heavy about the way Astoria said this, something that made Hermione think the younger woman wasn't just talking about the tovarasi.

"I know that feeling," she responded wearily.

"I know you do, Hermione," said Astoria.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the wind and their breath.

"Has your potion warn off?" asked Hermione eventually.

Astoria nodded, "Yep. Yours?"

"Thankfully, yes," Hermione responded with a weak sigh.

"Are you alright?" asked the younger woman.

Hermione shook her head, "No. No, I'm not. Are you?"

Astoria did not answer right away, instead she took a few seconds to think about this. When she finally spoke, she spoke quietly, "I'm not sure… This is all, I don't know. It's very heavy."

"I guess you're finding out quite a few things about Draco tonight that you didn't know before…"

"Oh no, I knew about you two," said Astoria simply.

"You did?" Hermione asked, shocked, "But the way Draco spoke, he made it sound like he'd never told you…"

"He didn't tell me. Draco isn't a big talker. He gives out information in little snippets. But I knew…" Astoria sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "You know, Hermione, I first met Draco at Harry and Ginny's wedding, three years ago. And from the moment I met him… I knew he was going to be… to be my best friend. I knew I wanted to be with him. But then… he left with _you_," Astoria looked up into Hermione's eyes then, as if to see whether she was listening, "I saw you two dancing, and I saw you leave. I could tell you were troubled, that he'd upset you. Then neither of you came back for a long time. And when he finally did, without you, he looked different somehow. He looked more damaged. He was looking for me too, I could see his eyes flitting about all over the place. But I didn't go to him…" her voice became a little stronger, "Because I didn't want to be someone's Band-Aid. I didn't want to be the cold shadow of another woman… But I didn't forget about him after that night, I knew I still wanted something from him. But he needed time, so that's what I gave him. And now here we are."

Hermione did not know how to respond to all this. There was no jealousy in Astoria's tone, only the desire to impart information but it was lost on Hermione just why she was choosing to impart it. All she could think to say was, "Wow. That's… commitment."

Astoria nodded and took another drag of her cigarette. As she exhaled, she said, "I don't know if you're aware of this, but he talks about you far less than the rest of the group. When we first started seeing each other, he gave me all these long character profiles of every single other person in the tovarasi, but when it came to you, he just said, 'And then there's Hermione. She's a lawyer,' and that was it. How he thought I wouldn't have figured out that there was history between you is beyond me."

Hermione felt tired by all of this, she'd heard this stuff about Draco before, from Narcissa, from Blaise… She was tired of knowing about Draco's feelings. But then, she had a part in that too. And how must all that seem to Astoria? She was a stranger who'd just stepped into a world she wouldn't understand for a long time. Hermione felt a bit sorry for her and really, the younger woman seemed to be dealing with it all pretty well, considering. After a few moments, she sighed, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" asked Astoria, bemused.

"I don't know. This is a mess."

Astoria gave a cynical laugh, "Very much so. But it's our mess, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded, sort of liking the fact that the younger woman had described it as _their _mess rather than just Hermione's, "Yes it is… I just… I really don't know what to do here. We're not kids anymore. We can't just have a screaming match and get over it. I may have ruined people's lives with the answer I gave to that question," her tone was heavy.

"I think if they were the sort of people to get scared off by a few old flings coming to the surface, they probably would have fucked off years ago," Astoria responded, giving Hermione a protracted look.

"Yes, you're probably right…" Hermione acknowledged, and then said, "Are you really ok though? You said this stuff was heavy, and I can totally feel that, but I can't imagine what it must all look like from an outsider's perspective…"

Astoria shrugged, "It looks like a fight between a group of friends who have a lot of history together. Aside from that… I don't think I am ok, no."

"Talk to me," Hermione urged, feeling a little taken aback by her own words.

Astoria hesitated, as if unsure about what she wanted to say, "I'm scared. I'm scared Draco's feelings for you are too strong, I'm scared of living in your shadow. I… Hermione… You remind me of myself."

This statement hit Hermione like a slap in the face and not just because of the refreshing honesty. Of course, she and Astoria didn't look alike, not in the slightest, but even this short conversation had given her the unnerving feeling that she was talking to herself. She just hadn't thought about it like that up until this point. Why else would she have felt comfortable enough to be open with this girl? Someone who'd she'd been cultivating a budding resentment for over the past month?

Hermione wanted to offer comfort, reassurance. She wanted to offer Astoria the same honesty the younger woman had given her. After a moment, she turned to the side, so that she was facing Astoria, rather than the darkness beyond the porch, "Astoria, listen to me. In all the years I've known Draco, he's kept every dalliance or relationship quiet, _very_ quiet. If you were living in my shadow, you wouldn't be here. Because Draco does not _like _me. Once, maybe, there was something between us. But that has been so thoroughly obscured behind six years of cold conversations and indifference that I don't think he even knows who I am anymore. He looks at me the same way I look at him, like an ex that still hangs around, that it's easier to ignore. We'll never be friends and I can promise you, we'll never be together. Maybe what you're seeing is his tastes, that's all. He's a smart guy who wants an equal. And you and I are both his equals," Hermione chuckled ruefully, "Maybe he's got mummy issues and enjoys the company of women who are cold and somewhat emotionally damaged… My point is that it's obvious you and I have a lot in common. But that doesn't mean anything more than that he has good taste in women."

Astoria smiled as she exhaled smoke through her nose, "That's putting a rather flattering spin on it."

Hermione shrugged, "We both know it's true… Look, when you marry into the tovarasi, you marry into the history. And the history is actually pretty good, for the most part."

"Then how could you think they'd shun you for what you said?" the younger woman asked, astutely guessing Hermione's very thoughts before they'd begun talking.

Hermione shrugged, "It's just my head talking, I guess. I haven't been in the best of places lately. Logically, we've been through worse and really, kissing Dean was in fifth year, before Luna even started thinking of him, kissing Isobel was entirely platonic and what happened with George was something we did because we were both in pain, and while both of us were single."

"Exactly."

Hermione laughed cynically, "Like I said, that's thinking about it logically. I can think it, but I can't make myself feel it right now."

"That's fair enough. But it'll make sense in time, won't it?"

Hermione nodded, "That is the inevitable conclusion."

The two women finished the rest of their cigarettes in silence before depositing the butts into the dilapidated milo tin Hermione kept under the seat.

"Should we go back in?" asked Astoria with a weak smile.

Hermione nodded, "I think we might have to."

They stood up together and Astoria put a hand on Hermione's arm.

"It's going to be alright you know."

Hermione looked down at her feet, feeling for the first time, that the tears were coming, "I'm not so sure," she said with a sniff.

"Why are you crying?"

"Because I'm scared," her voice was cracking. She sounded like a little girl again.

"That's a good thing, Hermione. If it didn't hurt, it wouldn't mean anything. The reason those people in there are crying and screaming at each other is because they care about one another, and they care about _you_," said Astoria.

Hermione whipped her eyes and gave the younger woman a long, sideways look.

"Cards on the table Astoria, you're dating my ex. The way my fevered mind interprets that is to say he prefers you over me, is choosing you over me. And I was jealous. I was ready to hate you. But you're an incredibly decent woman… And… if you ever want someone to smoke with, well, I'm here," she said, finally finding that warm tone she'd been going for in the beginning.

Astoria didn't speak, but she smiled and her hand squeezed Hermione's arm for just a moment and Hermione felt stronger.

As the two of them walked back into the house together, pulling off their cloaks, the voices of the tovarasi continued to echo through the hall.

Without hesitation, Hermione and Astoria walked back down the hall, through the doors of the dining room and into a veritable warzone. Ron, Draco, Harry, Isobel, Bo and Blaise seemed to be at the centre of it, each standing up in their seats, hands on the table, veins popping out of their necks as they screamed at each other. Eli and Padma seemed to be trying to intervene, to bring some calm to the situation while Ginny and Ebony were flitting along the sidelines looking panicked. George remained in his seat, talking quietly to Juliet who looked on the verge of tears. Susan was sitting close to Luna, an arm around her shoulders as if trying to sooth the younger woman while, next to her, Dean watched the two of them, looking hurt and confused.

When Hermione and Astoria entered, all eyes turned to them and the yelling abruptly stopped.

"Alright," said Hermione evenly into the silence, "I'd like it if everyone could please sit down. I have something to say…"

To her shock, those that were standing sat down and the silence prevailed. Astoria left her side to resume her seat beside Draco. She smiled at Hermione who took a deep breath.

Her mind was blank, she had no idea what to say, only that she wanted to heal the breach. She wanted to fix what she'd started. And after a moment, with this in mind, the words came.

"It may not shock you guys to hear the real reason we've had a fight tonight. It wasn't about our history or what has taken place between… certain members of the group, although we all have some unresolved issues there… Look. Here it is. Caring about a person can be scary. Caring about sixteen people can be a horrifying, embarrassing nightmare. And that's what it turns into, eventually, because we _do _have all this history. And that history is fucking messy, not just mine but everyone's. And if we can't accept each other for what we've been through then this fighting will never stop. Resentments are like cancer, they'll grow and fester and kill you if you let them. And… and I don't want to do that. I'm embarrassed and horrified and feel every possible kind of shame about what's taken place tonight, about the information that has come to light. But… well, if I can't say it today, when can I say it? I love you guys… and I love that we're fighting about this. I love that we're hurt. Because if we weren't, then our friendship wouldn't _mean _anything. I love that it means something. I love that you all care about me and each other enough to spend all night screaming. And I love that I care about all of you enough to cry about that," Hermione smiled a watery smile, even though she felt like doing that might get her cursed, "Now… I'd really like it if… can we just have some coffee and _talk_?"

There was a moment of tense silence while Hermione stared pleadingly at them all before Draco stood up.

"I'll help you make it," he said, stepping out from behind his chair and laying a kiss on Astoria's head.

Before Hermione left the room, she caught Ron's eye. There were words in his look. It said, _I love you_.

It wasn't fixed, wasn't healed. She could still feel all the anger and the accusations there. But it was enough. She'd opened the door to acceptance and forgiveness. And that was more than what she could have hoped for.

* * *

A/N Oh my god guys, I am SO sorry for taking this long to update! The stomach flu may have taken a rather dark turn. But I'm alright now! Healthy and able to write again! It's been absolute fucking torture not being able to these last few weeks!

Anyway, hoping you like this chapter. It has been one of my absolute favourites!

Love to you all, and thanks to all my reviewers! I'll get around to replying soon!

xx

Desdemona


	7. The Year of the Rose

7.

THE YEAR OF THE ROSE

_July 9__th__, 2007._

It was hard for Hermione to put into the context of words what she'd just been through. Ron was sitting by her bed, eyes rimmed red, looking almost as exhausted as she felt, staring between her and the child she held in her arms.

He'd asked, far too soon in her mind, what it had felt like, had asked her to describe the experience to him. He wanted to understand. And she loved him for that.

First, had come the contractions, rather inconveniently, in the middle of dinner with Isobel and Susan at home. Ron was out, late home from work and Hermione had felt no different to what she had always felt when pregnant: bloated and uncomfortable.

There'd been the moment, the horrible realisation of what was happening as she ploughed her way through a three inch thick steak with mashed potato and Diane sauce. She'd tried to frantically deny it at first, trying to convince herself that the sharp, knife like pains were nothing more than indigestion caused by the monumental amount she'd eaten. But then, Hermione was far too logical to indulge in that delusion for too long.

She'd eventually dabbed her mouth with her napkin, laid it down on the table in front of her, and said quite calmly, "I'm having contractions."

What happened after that was a rather confusing blur. She was aware of all the people around her, the yelling, the running, the joyful tears. But all she'd felt was pain, then nothing, then more pain. It was a teasing dance of torture followed by relief.

They hadn't gone to the hospital right away, her contractions were too far apart. But Harry and Ron had come home, Ginny and Hermione's parents had arrived soon after and Padma had shot through the fireplace the very moment word had reached her.

There was a lot of pacing and groaning on Hermione's part. And a _lot _of rather confusing mood swings. One second, she wanted them all out of her house, wanted them to leave her alone, but the next she felt like she'd die if they did so.

When they'd finally tramped off to the hospital, through the floo network, Hermione was barely capable of constructing sentences. She was far too focused.

And after that… well… there was nothing but pain and pressure and tightness and stinging and tearing. She vaguely remembered wondering why everyone around her was smiling during the ordeal and vaguely remembered politely asking them to stop. Or maybe she hadn't been so polite…

Three hours later though, they gave her this… this child. And they told her it was hers.

"Here's your daughter," one of the healers had said, beaming and handing her what looked like a bundle of blankets.

When she held Rose for the first time… It was something completely unreal to her. Total sensory overload.

She'd never spent real time holding babies before, and had always thought she'd be crap at it, but for some reason, Rose just fit. In the most perfect way. Hermione did not cry or laugh, she could only stare at the messy, gunk covered, alien looking thing in her arms. She was vaguely aware of Ron jumping up and down, high fiving the healers and Isobel, Ginny and her Mum standing by the bed, hugging and sobbing.

All that just felt like something in the background though. Because no matter how ugly the kid was, and Rose _was _ugly, Hermione thought she was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen in the entire world and couldn't begin to understand the love she was feeling for her new daughter. The kind of love that went absolutely beyond anything and everything. She didn't love _anyone_ like she loved Rose.

But how could she say all that to Ron? She didn't even know where to start. And she didn't want to offer him some half-hearted description, he deserved more than that.

"I'll write it down, one day. And you can read it. But… but I can't think right now," said Hermione eventually staring down at her daughter.

Ron nodded in understanding then asked quietly, "Would it be alright if I asked how you feel?"

She chuckled, "Physically? Worse than I did after spending an hour with Bellatrix Lestrange. But emotionally I feel better than I ever have."

He smiled a smile that came from the very middle of himself.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, standing up and whipping the tears from his eyes.

"Chocolate," Hermione replied instantly.

Ron grinned and left the room, leaving Hermione alone with Rose.

It was late now, about three am, and quiet. Harry, Ginny, Isobel and Hermione's parents had gone back to her house to clean up a bit and set up the crib for Rose. Hermione was eager to leave, but the healers had not given her the all clear just yet.

It was strange to think that the tiny person in her arms had been inside her body only two hours ago. For the last nine months Rose had been nothing more than a thing, really. Something that caused Hermione discomfort. Sure, she'd had some tender moments, like the first time the baby had kicked or when she sat alone in the sitting room and played Rose music, singing softly to her… but aside from that Hermione hadn't really been inspired to feel anything at all.

Rose hadn't been planned, not in the slightest, and Hermione had cried when she'd found out. Not because she was happy either. She hadn't ever considered terminating the pregnancy, but she'd felt she wasn't ready, that she didn't really want it. Seeing Ron's glee when he found out, listening to everyone else get so ecstatic over it, only made her feel worse, made her feel guilty that she couldn't be that excited.

But that was all different now, now that Rose was real, now that she was actually there in Hermione's arms. She wanted to hug her so hard it would squeeze the life out of her, so intense was her emotional reaction to Rose's existence.

Her thoughts were interrupted then, however, as Ron popped his head back through the door.

"Draco's here. He wants to come and see you," he told her, smiling and looking excited, "Astoria's just come in with contractions."

"Are you serious?!" Hermione exclaimed, shifting her sleeping daughter on her chest so that she could sit up a little straighter.

Ron nodded, "Yep. You want me to tell him to come in?"

"Sure!"

Ron's head disappeared and a moment later, Draco came in, looking tired but excited.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said by way of greeting as he shut the door behind him.

Hermione smiled and asked quickly, "How's Astoria?"

"Aside from the fact that she's vowed to murder me at the first available opportunity, she's fine. Mum's with her now so I can't stay long, just wanted to come in and say congratulations."

There was something sort of hollow about the way he was speaking but Hermione simply chalked this up to the fact that his girlfriend had gone into labour at three am.

"Thank you."

Draco approached the bed tentatively, clearly not wanting to invade Hermione's space. His eyes were locked on the little bundle in her arms, "So this is Rose."

"It is…" she said fondly, and then, without really thinking, "Would you like to hold her?"

"Aren't you worried she'll wake up?"

Hermione shrugged, "If she does, she does. We're trying not to encourage her to be a light sleeper. She's got to learn to sleep through noise or movement."

Draco looked uncertain, but after a moment, he nodded and held out his arms. Hermione lifted Rose to him and he took her, staring down at the little squashed face with a mixture of awe and something that might have been sadness. With the baby nestled in the crook of his arm, he brought up a hand and stroked her forehead with his thumb softly.

"She's beautiful," he said quietly, his voice thick.

Hermione did not know how to respond to this so she simply remained silent. After a moment, Draco looked up at her.

"I'm scared, Hermione," he whispered, the excited tension gone from his face.

She knew what he meant, even if he hadn't said it, but she didn't know why he was choosing to speak with _her _about it. Draco hadn't been even remotely emotional in front of her since his mother's trial. But of course, having a baby was a pretty emotional thing to go through. She understood.

"It'll be alright," she said with a kind smile, "You'll be a great dad."

He shook his head, frowning, "It's not that… well, it _is_ but… Astoria and I aren't even married. I don't know that we were even heading in that direction and now… now there's going to be a kid and I don't know if I even want him," Draco looked up at her again then, eyes all full of apprehension, "I'm going to be bonded to this woman for the rest of my life now."

Hermione found all this rather unsettling to say the least. It was three in the morning, she'd just given birth and here she was having a real conversation with Draco Malfoy, the coldest man alive. He was clearly distressed, but what could she say to him? It's not like he could make Astoria un-pregnant. After a moment she simply chose, "Didn't you think about this when she first told you?"

"Of course I did! But it's not like I could change it, could I?"

She felt confused and at the behest of her internal mind healer, she decided to voice that confusion, "Why are you talking to me about this? Why not Ron? He's right outside."

"Because you're the only one who really knows me," he responded quietly, not really looking at her.

Hermione couldn't help it, she snorted, "I highly doubt that. We don't even talk!"

"No… not now… but we used to. I don't talk to anyone like I used to talk to you. Not even Astoria."

"Well perhaps you should start doing that then," said Hermione somewhat harshly, resolutely pushing away all the feelings that were constricting in her chest at his words, "She is, after all, the mother of your child."

Draco nodded, looking thoroughly defeated. Hermione held out her arms for her daughter, supposing that he would be ready to leave. But he didn't give Rose back, did not even acknowledge Hermione's gesture. All he seemed capable of doing was looking down at the baby in his arms.

Her hands dropped again to her sides as Hermione watched him. He looked entirely paralysed.

After a long time, he spoke, and his words were so quiet she barely caught them. He said, "She could have been ours couldn't she?"

Hermione's blood turned to ice in her veins. She held up her hands again.

"Give me back my daughter, Draco. _Now_."

His eyes snapped up to hers and she realised he looked then much the same way he did when he had come to her office three years ago, begging her for help. He looked sick. But Hermione was not swayed. She was angry and she wanted him out of her room. She didn't want him to say anything else, anything he might regret.

After a moment, Draco walked back towards the bed and laid Rose in Hermione's arms. Then, without another word, he left the room.

A moment later, Ron returned with chocolate. Hermione was not going to tell him what had taken place, if only to save Draco's friendship with her partner. She didn't know why Draco had said what he'd said, only that he was clearly not in the best place right then. Of course, the moment he held his son in his arms, all of that would disappear, she knew this. He was probably just tired, scared, feeling sentimental. His words didn't deserve her brain power, especially tonight. She didn't have the brain power to give.

But nonetheless, they still stuck in her head. And she couldn't shake them off.

Seven years it had been. Seven years since he'd said anything remotely affectionate to her, anything that acknowledged their relationship as something other than a painful, inconvenient mess. How did he expect her to take it? Had she been too harsh? Maybe?

No. No, she hadn't. Not in any way. She'd just given birth to Ron's baby, Ron who was one of Draco's best friends. His girlfriend was in the building, giving birth to _his _son, Astoria who was one of _Hermione's _closest friends. And all that aside, did he really expect her to be forthcoming with those emotions after _seven years_?

He was just over emotional. He wasn't in his right mind. He was just scared.

This is what Hermione told herself to rob Draco's statements of meaning. If they had meaning in her head, the consequences were too dire to think of. She needed them to be meaningless. She needed to protect herself.

* * *

Just under half an hour later, Hermione and Ron were finally allowed to return home with their daughter.

Isobel, Harry and Ginny were waiting for them when they emerged from the fireplace.

"Where's mum and dad?" asked Hermione immediately before anyone could start cooing over the baby.

"Went to bed ages ago," Harry answered, looking as if his fingers were itching to hold the new addition.

"We put James down in Rose's room on the floor, is that alright?" asked Ginny, pulling Hermione's cloak off her shoulders for her.

Hermione waved her hand dismissively, "It's totally fine. Rose will sleep with us tonight anyway. Thank you guys so much for being here. Really."

"Where else would we be?" Isobel grinned.

Hermione sunk down onto the couch with a sigh, Rose wriggling a little in her sleep as she did so.

"Don't you want to go to bed, Hermione?" asked Ginny fretfully, "You're exhausted."

Hermione shook her head, "No, I want to stay up for a bit."

She didn't know where her energy was coming from but her mind was wide awake. Her body was healed entirely since she'd given birth, thanks to the healer's ministrations, it was still exhausted and she felt as if she'd never be able to move again. But she wasn't ready to sleep just yet. She wanted to savour the night her daughter was born.

Ron clapped his hands together, "Right! Where's the firewhisky then?"

"My thoughts exactly," Isobel put in, already heading in the direction of the kitchen.

Ginny though, looked scandalised and Hermione laughed.

"It's alright, Gin." said Ron fondly, "The healers told us it's ok to drink while breastfeeding as long as Hermione doesn't feed the baby for about an hour after she's had a drink. She expressed some milk at the hospital if Rose gets hungry. Chill."

"But…" his sister didn't look convinced.

"Ginny," said Hermione with a strained smile, "I've just given birth, I can do whatever the fuck I want."

Harry laughed and Ginny wisely put up her hands in supplication, grinning.

Isobel reappeared with the firewhisky a few glasses.

Hermione downed hers in one go before saying, "Ok. Someone take this child out of my arms so I can go and have a cigarette. I have one hour of freedom."

Harry immediately leapt forward to take Rose and Hermione gave her daughter up gladly. She'd been waiting nine months for this moment.

Isobel accompanied her out onto the porch, even consenting to join Hermione in one celebratory cigarette as they sat together. The night was warm and the breeze relaxing. The cigarette was, in Hermione's mind, up there in the top five things she'd ever put in her mouth.

"So this is all very strange," her friend said after a few silent moments.

"Yep. I have a baby now, how weird is that?"

Isobel giggled, "Somehow I could never have pictured it. Remember the first time you held James? You looked like you were torn between tears and all out panic."

"Yeah, I was so scared I was going to drop him… it's different when it's your own baby though. Dropping Rose just doesn't seem possible. It's like it goes against all my instincts."

Isobel shrugged, "Well it does. You mothers are weird."

"Hey, you'll be one soon!" Hermione laughed, playfully bumping her shoulder against her friend's.

"Bo's only three months in, I don't have to think about it yet!"

"You know, I never really pictured you as the man in the relationship…" said Hermione with a sideways glance at the younger woman, knowing that she'd take offence.

"Hermione!" Isobel cried.

Hermione threw up her hands, "What?! It's true! Bo's always been the tough one out of the two of you!"

Isobel grinned, "Probably why she's the one carrying the baby then."

"Makes sense," Hermione replied.

They lapsed into companionable silence and maybe it was Hermione's frayed emotions, but she found herself suddenly thinking about the very first conversation she'd shared with Isobel, up on the astronomy tower over seven years ago. It seemed so strange that they'd ever not been friends. But of course, there _had _been a time when they'd disliked each other pretty heartily, as foreign as that was. They were so close now that Hermione felt as if they'd been that way their whole lives. When she sat with Harry and Ron, having reminiscent conversations about their time in Hogwarts, she had to remind herself that Isobel hadn't been there. Or rather, she _had_, but she'd been on the other side.

Hermione looked over at her best friend, watching as she sucked on her cigarette. This was a Death Eater's daughter. This was a Slytherin. This was someone who'd detested muggleborns as much as Draco had. This was someone who'd once considered Voldemort sane and worthy of her notice.

Then she'd had a change of heart, hadn't she? Hermione had never really troubled to ask why. But maybe she felt like she didn't have to. Isobel had never really _earned _her trust, not in the way Draco had had to. She'd just had it.

And now look at her. No one remembered Isobel Holub, the Death Eater's daughter anymore. They just saw Isobel, the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Sure, when she'd started out at the Ministry there'd been some nervous glances and apprehensive feelings, just as there had been with Draco. But Kingsley had quashed all that pretty quickly. That and the constant presence of the golden trio around the two Slytherins pretty much assured they were left well alone.

"So do you know when you'll be going back to work?" asked Isobel into Hermione's contemplative silence.

Hermione sighed, "Dunno. Right now I want to go back tomorrow, but I know I feel differently soon… Actually… I've been thinking about that. About work."

"Oh?"

"I don't want to defend any more Death Eaters," she said in one breath.

"Ok… why's that?" asked the younger woman carefully.

"Because I think it's wrong. I only take their cases because of the money and… well… I don't need it, do I?"

"But you've just had a baby…"

"I know. But the house is paid off and I'd rather Rose grow up with a few less luxuries than a mother who works to place convicted murderers back into society," Hermione responded firmly.

Isobel nodded, taking another drag on her cigarette before saying, "How does Ron feel about this?"

Hermione grimaced slightly, "I wouldn't know, we haven't talked about it. But… honestly I don't really care. I need to do this for me. It… it's bad for my soul, what I'm doing. I have to stop. I've been thinking about it for years really, but now that I have Rose, I don't want to raise her around such loose morals. Sure, she might not have the best broom in the shop but at least she won't ever have to sit across from another kid whose father or mother was murdered by someone I represented."

Isobel nodded again, a serious look on her face, "Ok."

"What do you think?" Hermione asked because she wanted to know.

Isobel seemed to weigh up her words before she said them, "I think you're right. And I admire you for what you want to do. Do you reckon Dawn will mind though?"

Hermione shook her head, "I don't think so. I'm not her protégé anymore so it's not like her pay is conditional on the cases I take. She'll support it. But I think she'll encourage me to consider what I want to make my main focus if not Death Eaters."

"Have you thought about what that might be?"

"A little…" Hermione replied contemplatively, "I don't know. I mean, I'll always stay with Human Rights… But maybe I could go into family law, you know? Work with children who are being abused, things like that. I'd like to set up some sort of program for kids with muggle parents who aren't wholeheartedly accepting of our world. You don't hear about it often, but I'm sure there are a lot of people in that situation out there…"

"There would be. Perhaps you could target the muggle parents who won't let their children go to Hogwarts," Isobel suggested.

"People like the Dursleys," said Hermione a tad ruefully. Harry had told the tovarasi all about his upbringing over the years.

"Exactly."

"I'll send Dawn an owl about it next week. She'll want to come and meet Rose anyway. We can talk about it then."

When Hermione and Isobel finally entered the house again, after far more than one cigarette on Hermione's part, the sun was just beginning to crest the horizon. She was starting to feel her exhaustion now and walking all the way up to her and Ron's room felt like a herculean task.

Ginny and Harry collected a sleep befuddle James from Rose's room and left with Isobel, promising they'd come by again within the next few days. Hermione's parents were going to stay with them for a while to help out and she probably needed it. She fully planned to spend the majority of the following day sleeping.

When her mother's head finally hit the pillow, Rose woke up, wanting to be fed.

Hermione fell asleep to the sounds of Ron cooing to his daughter next to her as he fed Rose from the bottle.

She knew then, that there had never been any point in her life when she'd ever been that happy.

* * *

_July 13__th__, 2007._

Hermione really had slept for almost two days. There were moments of consciousness of course, and in those moments she breast fed Rose, held Rose, talked to Rose. Her parents were there, and Ron too. But she didn't have time for them. It felt as if she'd always be exhausted, she barely remembered what it felt like to be alert anymore. Unless she was with Rose.

And only after about four days had passed did Hermione finally begin to feel like herself again, before she had even the tiniest inkling to pick up a book or have a conversation with someone who could talk back.

Her parents and Ron seemed glad to have her back. They wanted to talk to her, clearly missed communicating with her. Her mum wanted to tell her that Rose looked like she'd have Hermione's brown curls. Ron wanted to talk about his first experience bathing his daughter and how hilarious it had been. Her dad wanted to discuss Rose's obvious shows of burgeoning intelligence that had become clearly apparent in her four days of life.

And Hermione wanted to hear all of it.

There had been a time when she felt sick of listening to new mothers talk about their babies, but now she got it. She didn't want to talk about anything else. All her focus was _entirely _on her daughter.

And so it was that afternoon as she sat in her bedroom, Rose lying quietly next to her on the bed tugging on Hermione's hair while she read the copy of Pride and Prejudice Susan had given her on her last birthday.

Rose was a particularly quiet child when she wasn't hungry or tired or needed changing, giving Hermione the opportunity to simply lie there and read while Rose stared around at her surroundings, looking inquisitive as babies tend to do.

Hermione was grateful for the peace. She needed it really. That had been one of the things that had stressed her most when she was pregnant, the fear that Rose would need her undivided attention all day, every day. Those fears had changed in the last few days, to the point that she would have been entirely willing to give her attention, if Rose demanded it. But she didn't. And Hermione loved her for that. It made her feel like her new born daughter was not just a daughter but also a friend. It was odd, the idea of respecting a new born baby as a person, as a human being, liking them for their character. But that's how Hermione felt about Rose.

That afternoon saw the two of them alone. Ron had gone back to work, more because Hermione had begged him rather than because he wanted to. She didn't like having people fluttering about her all the time. Ron had gotten two whole days to get to know Rose while Hermione slept, and she felt like she'd missed out on having any special, quite moments with her daughter wherein she was actually fully conscious.

Her parents had agreed to spend the afternoon out as well for the sake of Hermione's peace and had gone back to the Burrow to update everyone on their granddaughter's progress.

Rose made a sound beside her and Hermione set down her book to roll onto her side and look at her daughter.

"Hello tiny associate," she said, placing her finger in Rose's grip.

Rose, rather rudely in Hermione's mind, did not respond except to stare up at her mother and grasp the offered finger.

"Are you ever going to get bored looking at me?" asked Hermione.

Rose continued to gaze raptly up at her.

"I can read to you if you like. Look," Hermione lifted the book up in front if Rose's face, "It's called Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. I think you'll like it. I'm about halfway through, so I'll catch you up on the plot if you like before I start reading. You see, it's about a very proud woman who is very intelligent and loves to read. And there's a man who falls in love with her, and he's very rich. He looks down on her because he thinks she is of inferior birth to him and she hates him for that. But he decides to be with her anyway, because he loves her, but she refuses him until he's able to learn to respect her as she is which he does by the end… I'm not up to that bit though."

Hermione rolled onto her stomach and propped the book up next to Rose's head.

She began to read, "_Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to the utmost to speak with composure when she said:_

_"'You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared the concern which I might have felt in refusing you, had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.'_

_"She saw him start at this, but he said nothing, and she continued:_

_"'From the very beginning – from the first moment, I may almost say – of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others, were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.'_

_"'You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings, and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been. Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.'_

_"And with those words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house."_

Hermione closed the book and looked at her daughter.

"What did you think, little Rose? Did you like it? Always makes me kind of sad, that bit. If only he'd been able to say he was sorry or explain about her sister and Mr Wickham there and then. Maybe she might have listened to him and they wouldn't have had to go through all that crap before they finally got together…"

Hermione's speech was cut off then as a voice echoed through the house.

"Hello? Hermione?"

She recognised it immediately to be Ebony.

"I'm up here in the bedroom!" she responded, not wanting to have to pick Rose up and take her down stairs to greet the younger woman.

Hermione heard the sound of footsteps moving up the stairs and a moment later, Ebony appeared in the doorway.

"Hello darling!" she said gleefully, almost skipping into the room and landing on the bed beside Hermione and Rose, "Oh my god, she's fabulous! Look at her little fingers! I wanna eat 'em!"

"Don't know if she'd like that too much but I understand the feeling," said Hermione, grinning.

"So how are you doing?" asked Ebony brightly.

Hermione shrugged, beaming, "Oh you know, all glowy and motherlike…"

"I can tell!"

"How about you though, I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!" Hermione exclaimed joyfully. She didn't feel at all annoyed that her solitude had been interrupted. It was nice to see a fresh face.

"I'm good," said Ebony with a happy shrug. She gestured to Rose, "Envious that I don't have one of these but otherwise, good! I'm starting work on the Veil next week, _finally_, so I'm itching to be at work right now…"

"That's great! Edgar finally come to his senses did he?"

Ebony shrugged, smiling, "It would seem so… Oh, I wish I could tell you about it though, Hermione. Some of the stuff I've been reading has been so interesting."

"Don't tease me! I almost want to become an Unspeakable just so I can get my hands on the department's library," Hermione pouted mockingly.

"Coming from someone who's actually _seen_ the library, I can totally understand that," Ebony replied seriously.

At that moment, there was a tapping on the bedroom window and both women looked up inquisitively to see a handsome eagle owl perched on the sill.

"That looks like Perseus. Draco's owl," said Ebony interestedly, cocking her head to the side.

Hermione did not respond, but her stomach turned slowly over in a rush of nerves. Why would Draco be writing to her? She stood up, leaving Ebony and Rose on the bed, and made her way over to the window. When she opened it, the owl flew in, allowing her to see that it did not carry a letter at all but rather a very large, flat, thin package.

She plucked it from the owl's proffered leg and closed the window behind it as it flew out again.

"What is it?" asked Ebony as Hermione turned the package over in her hands.

"I don't know," she said quietly, sitting back down on the bed before tearing the outer packaging off.

Out fell what seemed to be a record in a nondescript black cover.

"There's no note," she told the younger woman, pulling the record out of its sleeve and inspecting the inside.

"Do you want to put it on?"

Hermione nodded, "I suppose so. Do you mind carrying Rose?"

Ebony shook her head and stood up, "No, it's alright, I'll bring the record player up here instead."

"Thanks, Eb," Hermione replied gratefully. It was always a production relocating herself and the baby into another room.

Ebony walked out and reappeared a few minutes later with Remus's old record player in her arms. Hermione cleared a space on the dressing table and Ebony set it down. Without preamble, Hermione placed the record down on the machine and set the needle onto the outer ring.

The two women returned to the bed, listening to the scratching and empty air that preceded the first song.

When the music began to play, Hermione had to laugh.

"Is… is this Nirvana?" asked Ebony, looking shocked.

Hermione nodded, "Yep. From their Unplugged in New York album. Draco and I used to listen to it all the time…"

She could almost hear Draco singing underneath the lyrics, almost smell the scent of honey and hazelnuts floating off the Virtus Lucis. The first potion they'd ever brewed together, to make him able to conjure light in his hands.

Hermione hadn't thought about that night in so long, it had been so eclipsed by the events that followed. But now she wondered if he still did it sometimes, in the quiet of his own home. She wondered if he ever used the light she'd gifted him.

Her and Ebony sat in silence and listened. Only Hermione knew the relevance of the song and it made her frightened. After what he'd said the other night, after the way she'd responded, what did he mean by giving her the record? A record where the first song was one that she'd long considered _their _song?

Eventually, Nirvana wound down to a finish and gave way to a song Hermione had never heard before. But nevertheless, the first lyrics had her far more frightened than she had been moments before…

_"Now I don't hardly know her,  
But I think I could love her,  
Crimson and clover._

_And when she comes walking over,  
Now I've been waiting to show her,  
Crimson and clover._

_Over and over."_

Hermione noticed Ebony shift a little beside her and when she looked up, the younger woman wore a worried frown.

"This can't be good…" said Ebony seriously.

Hermione resolutely shook her head, "We don't know… it could just be… maybe he thought these were just songs I might like… maybe it's just a… a gift."

"It could be, I guess… but you don't really believe that do you?"

Hermione adopted a pained look and shook her head.

Ebony cleared her throat, "Did something… happen that made you think this?"

"Well, maybe, I don't –" but Hermione's sentence was cut off as the next song started and she let out a groan.

"This is Bob Marley," said Ebony, and Hermione nodded, "This is yours and Ron's song."

Hermione nodded again.

"But he doesn't mean it like that, does he?" Ebony said, more to herself than her friend.

Hermione did not respond.

_"I wanna love you, and treat you right,  
I wanna love you, every day and every night.  
We'll be together, with the roof right over our heads,  
We'll share the shelter of my single bed."_

Her head fell into her hands as she groaned, "Oh, what is he _doing_?!"

Ebony put a hand on Hermione's shoulder, "It's alright. It's like you said, we don't really know…"

"I do," said Hermione harshly, "I know. He… he said some things. The other night at the hospital. I haven't told anyone."

"And neither will I, you know that," said Ebony seriously.

Hermione nodded, knowing that it was true, "He seemed really freaked out about Astoria having the baby, really freaked out about being a father. And at first, I just chalked the stuff he said up to that, that he was feeling over emotional and scared but now…" she gestured towards the record player before turning to look at Ebony, "He was holding Rose and he said, '_She could have been ours couldn't she?_' He said I was the only person who really knew him, the only person he could ever been really open with…"

"Well that's… pretty heavy," said Ebony with a sigh.

"I don't know what any of this means…"

The song changed again, this time to something entirely different from the first three. It was happy, euphoric, and those feelings bled into her being as she listened. She didn't know which genre she could put it into if not alternative rock which she'd never really thought was Draco's style.

The lyrics were almost nonsensical. She could barely make them out, but she loved the song nonetheless. It was one of those fantastic pieces of music that didn't need lyrics to explain its meaning. And it was so like Draco to pick it because of that.

Hermione turned to Ebony, a look of relief on her face. The lyrics to the song weren't meaningful in any way and it wasn't like her and Draco had any fond memories listening to it, she'd never heard it before. The motives behind the record must be innocent.

Ebony, however, did not look so comforted. Her eyes were narrowed as she listened.

"What are you thinking, Eb?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"I don't know…" Ebony replied slowly, "I think… I think it all hinges on the next song."

And so they waited until the track changed again. Hermione knew this one. Led Zeppelin, Dazed and Confused. It was, in her mind, a pretty sexual song with its heavy bass line and provocative lyrics.

Ebony nodded in understanding beside her but Hermione looked confused.

"Don't you see?" said the younger woman, "It's a story. He's telling the story of your relationship as it was all those years ago. The first song was the beginning, I mean, let me guess, it was one of the first songs you guys listened to together, right?"

Hermione nodded, still feeling slightly confused.

Ebony continued, sounding excited, like she'd worked out a hard equation, "And then it progresses into Joan Jett. Think about it: '_I don't hardly know her, but I think I could love her_', it's that first thought, the first attraction. Then there's Bob Marley, a proposition and a question. He's feeling things and he wants to… I don't know… _invite_ you to feel those things too. Then the song that followed, the euphoria, he's excited about you. And then this. Sex."

Hermione couldn't wrap her head around Ebony's logic and felt that perhaps the younger woman had been working in the Department of Mysteries for far too long.

Rose began to grumble behind them and Hermione turned around, scooping the baby up into her arms. She was hungry. As the record continued to turn, she began to breast feed her, secretly proud that Ebony did not appear bothered by it in the slightest.

Again, the track changed.

The next song was… beautiful. And even to Hermione, in whose best interest it was to believe Ebony's theory was wrong, the song had meaning to it.

_"First you look so strong,  
Then you fade away,  
The sun will blind my eyes,  
I love you anyway_._"_

She looked to the younger woman, waiting for her interpretation and of course, Ebony did not disappoint.

"It's the afterglow, the post orgasm haze," was all she said, in a hushed voice.

Hermione nodded and stood, still clutching Rose to her chest. She made her way over to the record player but just as she stretched out her hand, Ebony leapt to her feet.

"What are you doing?!"

Hermione's voice was cold and calm, "I'm stopping this bullshit. I don't want to hear anymore."

Even though Ebony might be wrong, even though the two of them might have been reading into something that was nothing more than a peace offering, Hermione had no interest in participating any longer. She didn't need to have these thoughts in her head.

"Don't you want to know how the story ends?" asked the younger woman.

"I already know how the story ends, Ebony!" she gestured down at Rose, "_This _is how the story ends!"

"That's _your_ story! Not Draco's! Just… you know him. You know he finds it hard to open up. Just let him finish. Please?"

Hermione did not understand in the slightest why Ebony was so passionate about this. But after a moment, she relented and resumed her seat on the bed. The younger woman sat down next to her and listened to the remainder of the song with a sort of defiant expression of interest on her face.

The tone of the record changed again with the next piece of music. It was soft, kind, slow, inquisitive. But also somewhat sexual.

After listening to it for a few minutes, Ebony spoke without any prompting from Hermione at all.

"I think this is him discovering you as a person. That one line, _'There is strength in the differences between us, there is comfort where we overlap'_. He's discovering _you_. This song is about conversation, communication. He's grateful to have someone to talk to, finally, to be himself with," said Ebony.

Hermione fought the temptation to roll her eyes and instead said, "How is it you're getting so much information from this music, Ebony? How can you think you can judge his feelings like this?"

Ebony shrugged, "It's my job. And besides, I know Draco. Blaise is his best friend. Whose couch do you think he sleeps on when him and Astoria fight? I've spent enough time with him over the last few years to know his character. Draco never does anything without meaning, without reason. He's a fairly sensitive person in the end. His every word, every action is deliberate, calculated. And given what he said to you last night, I think he would assume that you would read into this record, he would assume you could understand him even when he isn't speaking with his own voice."

Hermione scoffed, "Well that really backfired didn't it? If you weren't here, I probably would have listened to the whole thing without thinking anything of it."

"Perhaps he still sees your relationship as something deeper than you do," said Ebony lowly.

Hermione could do nothing but stare at her friend. What was happening felt so surreal. But she couldn't help feeling that maybe there was a grain of truth to what the younger woman was suggesting. She resolved to listen to the music as Ebony was, to try and feel the meaning behind it.

The next song was sadder, oddly so. And it felt as if every lyric was spoken to her straight from Draco's mouth. She could hear him in it, hear him moving through it.

_"She said, 'I don't know if I've ever been good enough,  
I'm a little bit rusty, and I think my head is caving in,  
And I don't know if I've ever been really loved,  
By a hand that's touched me, and I feel like something's gotta give.  
And I'm a little bit angry.'_

_Well this isn't over,  
No, not here, not while I still need you around.  
You don't owe me, we might change,  
Yeah we just might feel good…"_

Is this how he'd seen her all those years ago? Hermione didn't need Ebony's interpretation this time, she could feel all his intention without aid. He was talking about her falling apart, those months that had led to them finding the memory, how she'd gone cold, given into the dark pull of her depression. How he'd felt desperate, like he needed her and she wasn't there.

She was too busy being sad all on her own.

It was strange, to think of those memories, to think so seriously about something that had happened such a long time ago. But nonetheless, Hermione was having a bit of an epiphany.

It wasn't just him who'd done the abandoning, though his actions were deplorable. She'd abandoned him too, for months she'd been a husk of herself. She'd left him out in the cold.

The only difference was, he'd stuck around when her mind went away. He'd stayed right there in her flat, by her side while she looked at him as if he were a stranger.

And the first time he'd shown any sign of leaving her side, of being disloyal, she'd straight up and left.

_She'd _left. _Not _him.

And just as that thought crossed her mind, the song changed again.

Beside her, Ebony, hearing the new song, whispered her interpretation, though Hermione didn't need it, "You're leaving him."

Hermione could not speak. She looked down at her chest, noticing that Rose had fallen asleep, and put her daughter down in the centre of the bed.

Her heart was doing something awful inside her diaphragm. A gasp escaped her mouth. For the first time in almost six years, she was having a panic attack.

_"Maybe there's a god above,  
But all I've ever learnt from love,  
Is how to shoot at someone who outdrew you.  
And it's not a cry you hear at night,  
It's not somebody who's seen the light,  
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."_

Without thinking, Hermione sunk down to the floor, her body limp, totally devoid of feeling and strength.

How did one person manage to stay so stubborn over the course of _seven years_?!

Of course, it wasn't all her fault, he'd played his part too, but to suddenly realise that she'd been more to blame than she'd originally thought, was crippling.

When she looked up, she noticed that Ebony had tears in her eyes. Hermione did too.

The feeling of hopelessness was overwhelming.

There she sat, in the house that she'd bought with Ron, beside the bed she shared with Ron, loving Ron's child with every inch of her heart and all she could think of as she stared at Rose then was:

_She could have been ours couldn't she?_

"You know what's coming next, don't you?" Hermione asked Ebony in a hollow voice.

"What?" Ebony responded quietly.

"His reaction," said Hermione, "After I left. Next will be how he felt."

Ebony nodded and they both waited, listening as Jeff Buckley sang hallelujah over and over, as the guitar drifted into nothingness.

Then… then the breaking point.

_"Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep,  
And then leave me alone.  
Don't try to wake me in the morning,  
Because I will be gone._

_Don't feel bad for me,  
I want you to know,  
Deep in the cell of my heart,  
I will feel so glad to go."_

"Hermione," said Ebony, "This is a song about suicide."

"I know," Hermione responded in a choked voice.

And they listened. They sat in silence and listened. And all Hermione could see was Draco, his face covered in chocolate as she taught him how to eat Tim Tams. His face staring down at her as he pulled her from that frozen lake. The whispered conversation they'd shared on the floor of Teodora's classroom after she'd forgotten to take the rusine. The fear in his eyes, the terror, once they found the memory of the eighth Horcrux. The way he'd looked the first time he'd seen her naked. How he'd fled in fear from her the very first day she'd visited Diagon Alley, when she went to see her flat. How he'd forbidden her from calling herself mudblood. Draco, crumpled on the floor of her flat, broken because she'd told him she loved him.

And after all that, she'd left him. And he'd wanted to die.

He'd felt her pain. He'd been heartbroken as much as she had. And she was finally realising this after seven whole years of resentment.

The song died into silence. Hermione almost thought it was the end of the record before the piano drifted out of the speaker.

She knew this song. She knew it because it was one of her favourites. It had been so after the war had ended. She'd listened to it then. But Draco didn't know that.

The Smashing Pumpkins, For Martha.

A sadder, more bittersweet song, she had never heard in her life.

_"If you have to go, don't say goodbye.  
If you have to go, don't you cry.  
If you have to go, I will get by._

_Someday I'll follow you and see you on the other side."_

Ebony spoke then, without hesitation, "I think this one's not as obvious as the others. It might be talking about back then, about how he'd accepted that you'd left but… but I think it's about now. He's saying you've moved on, finally, that he can see you're happy and he knows how hard you had to fight to make that happen. How hurt you were. And someday he'll move on too, he'll see you on the other side of heartbreak…"

Hermione sniffed, "You think so?"

Ebony nodded.

"I can't change any of it, can I?" asked Hermione, "I wish… I wish I'd known all this all along."

"Why? What would you have done differently?"

"I… I don't know…" she responded with a sad smile, "I would have understood. That would have meant something. I always thought he didn't care. And now I know he did. Somehow it makes it hurt less to know that he did feel something. That I meant that much to him."

"_Mean _that much to him Hermione. If this record says anything, it's that his feelings are still… there."

"What can I do about that though?" Hermione asked, with just a hint of desperation.

Ebony shrugged, "What makes you think you have to do anything? Maybe that's why Draco never wanted you to know any of this before. Because he didn't want you to feel you had to act."

"How can I not though?"

"Accept that he's shared something with you today. And that's amazing. Let it amaze you. But you've both chosen these paths in your lives now. I mean, do you want to leave Ron?"

The thought had never even crossed her mind.

"No, I don't. Not in the slightest," Hermione replied instantly.

Ebony smiled understandingly, "Well then let the stones lay where they lay. Consider this as closure."

Hermione nodded, wiped her eyes and picked herself up off the floor just as the final song drifted out of the record player.

It was this song that sealed her mind on the matter, just as she'd been almost about to decide to do nothing. This was the song that made that impossible.

She need only hear the first line.

_"These arms of mine,  
They are lonely,  
Lonely and feeling blue…"_

Hermione rushed to the armoire and pulled out her boots, dragging them on over her bare feet. She didn't care about the rest of her appearance, didn't care about the fact that she wore nothing but a silk nightie.

"What are you doing?" asked Ebony cautiously.

"Something," she responded fiercely, "It's about time I did something. Can you look after Rose for a bit? I won't be gone for long."

"Just leave it, Hermione! You can't… what about Ron?!" Ebony seemed panicked.

"It'll be fine. Just trust me. Can you watch Rose or not?"

"Yes of course but…"

The younger woman was unable to finish her sentence. Hermione had already torn out of her bedroom door and was now racing down the stairs. She rushed down the hall, seized her cloak off the hanger by the door, threw it over her shoulders and made her way into the sitting room. She flung a handful of floo powder into the empty grate of her fireplace and stepped into the green flames calling, "Malfoy Manor."

She knew she couldn't fix it. She knew she couldn't undo seven years of pain and resentment. But she could be Draco's _friend_. If they couldn't be in love, they could still love each other. She could still be loyal to him. She could still be there for him.

It'd taken them seven years the first time, to get to the point of being close, and they could do it again. And she'd do it if it killed her.

She'd be his friend.

Hermione burst from the fireplace in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor in a puff of ash and smoke.

Narcissa was sitting by the window in the sun, curled around a book. She looked up in alarm as Hermione appeared.

"Hermione! Is everything alright?! Is Rose…?"

"Yes. She's fine. It's ok," said Hermione breathlessly, "Where's Draco? I need to speak to him."

"You seem to have forgotten your clothes my dear," Narcissa responded with a shocked smile.

Hermione looked down at herself, clad in nothing but boots, a nightie and her cloak, "I didn't forget them. I just didn't need them."

Narcissa seemed on the brink of laughter.

"Alright, if you say so. Draco is in the library. Astoria has gone to visit her parents," Narcissa said, but Hermione didn't understand why she felt the need to add Astoria's whereabouts.

"Thanks!" she responded before tearing out of the room. She had no idea where the library was. But she assumed it was somewhere in this part of the house. With this in mind, she began throwing open every door she passed in an effort to find him until, on her fifth try, she did.

He was sitting at a large wooden desk in a room full to the ceiling with books, bent over a piece of parchment, quill in hand. At her sudden arrival, he looked up.

His expression immediately morphed into one of confusion and fear.

Hermione found she had no idea what to say now that she was there, facing him. What must he think of her? What if the record didn't mean anything? What if it _was _just a gift?

Draco stood slowly and moved around the desk, looking more fearful and wary the longer she remained silent.

All she could think of was, how could he stand wearing that black suit in this heat?

After that, it seemed her body took all control from her mind.

She ran forward, launching herself into his arms, throwing her own around his shoulders.

His body was tense under hers but she didn't care. Just as he had given her the record unconditionally, she gave him this.

"Thank you," she said through the sudden tears in her eyes, "I needed that record, Draco. I've needed it for seven years."

He didn't respond, but slowly his arms lifted and wrapped around her.

It was one of the greatest pains she'd ever felt, his body, his scent all over her, taking up every sense. But the pain wasn't what this was about. It was about the healing.

"We might never have Flourish and Blotts again, or the Dividing Line, or Tim Tams. But I'll be your friend, Draco. I want to be your friend. We owe each other that. We owe it to what we had."

She felt him nod against her collar bone.

* * *

A/N Not much to say in this author's note guys. But I do have some good news on a more personal front! My journey to being an actual published author has begun! I'm having an article (about fanfiction funnily enough) published in a magazine! Yay! In my never ending search to occupy myself while I procrastinate the other week, I went and did some research on how to get a literary agent and found out some rather daunting information. A piece of which was that they tend to pay more attention to prospective clients if they've been published. Somehow I don't think fanfiction counts. So yeah! It's all happening!

Anyhow, hope you all liked the chapter :D

Oh! And for anyone who was interested in the songs on Draco's story record, here they are:

1. "Dumb" (Live) by Nirvana

2. "Crimson and Clover" by Joan Jett

3. "Is This Love" by Bob Marley

4. "LSF" by Kasabian

5. "Dazed and Confused" by Led Zeppelin

6. "Vapour Trail" by Ride

7. "Overlap" by Ani Difranco

8. "Push" by Matchbox 20

9. "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley

10. "Asleep" by the Smiths

11. "For Martha" by the Smashing Pumpkins

12. "These Arms of Mine" by Otis Redding

xx

Desdemona


	8. The Year They Pledged Forever

A/N – Ok, so I know I pretty much disappeared for like three months and left you hanging. The guilt I felt for doing this to you has essentially been the driving force behind me posting this chapter! I had sort of half written it but then I had this fabulous idea for a book, like, an original one, and I just had to roll with it! But now that I'm five chapters into that, I figured it's time to get back to you! Because I'd be no kind of writer if I left my wonderful readers hanging forever and there are so many fantastic twists and turns that I have yet to throw at you in this story! Couldn't stand the idea that you'd never find out what happened to Draco and Hermione. So. With my sincerest apologies and huge amounts of love, here is chapter eight…

8.

The Year They Pledged Forever

_September 12__th__, 2008._

Hermione stared down at the rusted out cauldron in front of her, taking deep breathes. She hated traveling by portkey but that wasn't the only thing grating against her nerves. She knew what was awaiting them on the other side of this journey and she was entirely ready to be thoroughly overwhelmed.

"Now, remember, you have twenty four hours," said her mother, adjusting Hermione's cloak.

"I know, mum," Hermione responded with a roll of her eyes. She looked across the little circle gathered around the portkey to see Molly talking very seriously to Harry, George and Ron.

"Don't get too drunk. Don't separate. And don't buy anything from any bakeries," she was saying hurriedly.

"Isn't the point of Amsterdam their baked delicacies?" Isobel said quietly. The group giggled while Molly flashed her a seething glare.

"I expect you all back by six o'clock tomorrow evening," said Molly coldly.

"Or we're adopting out all your children!" declared Barry Granger jovially, pointing at each of the parents in turn with the beer he held in his hand.

"Dad!" cried Hermione with an indignant laugh.

She did feel a little bad leaving all the kids with the Weasleys and her parents. Rose had just discovered walking, James threw tantrums at the drop of a hat and Nikki, Isobel and Bo's newborn, demanded constant attention. But they'd insisted they could handle it so Hermione had relented.

What was a hen's night if not the perfect opportunity to get wrecked? And she couldn't get wrecked with her daughter on her hip.

"Time for the off, guys!" said Blaise over the clamour of voices.

The cauldron began to glow blue and Hermione leapt forward to lay a finger on it along with the rest of the party.

They spun out of the field beside the Burrow, the faces of Molly, Arthur, Barry and Nina rapidly twisting out of view.

Hermione shut her eyes against the sickening sensation of the portkey. She prayed for it to end quickly but as they were moving farther afield than she was used to, the travel time was longer. Their destination: the wizarding district of Amsterdam. Where else?

Finally, her feet hit solid ground and she swayed into Ebony, who was standing to her right.

Instantly, her senses were over crowded by scents and lights and colours. They'd arrived in the middle of a crowded street, crammed with the most luridly dressed witches and wizards Hermione had ever seen in her life. Music was thrown at her from every direction, pumping out of the night clubs that lined the street. Even at this time of night, when the clubs in London were only just beginning to stir and nowhere near opening, the Amsterdam wizarding district was in full swing.

Toverkracht Circuit was _nothing _like Diagon Alley.

"'Ermione!" she heard Fleur's voice call over the din, "Ze café is zis way!"

Hermione seized Ebony's hand and Padma's, who happened to be on her other side and immediately followed after Fleur's waving silver hair, hoping desperately that the rest of the group were following too.

After much pushing and shoving and being trodden on while clinging onto the hands of her friends for dear life, Hermione was finally led into a cramped café that looked more like a pub. She squeezed into an already over large booth that seemed to expand with each new addition.

She noticed gratefully, that Ron was sitting somewhere to her left. He, at least, had made it.

"Alright!" he cried, standing up, "Is everyone here?!"

After a quick head count, he determined that they had indeed, all managed to find the café Fleur had told them about.

Hermione stared around at her friends, feeling the electricity of excitement already taking over her body. She wanted to dance, to drink, to _feel_. She wanted to fill her senses with every possible experience she could find in this wonderful city.

And she was grateful that all her friends could come along for the ride.

Not only were the tovarasi all present, but also Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Percy and Neville too. Needless to say, it was a _large _group of twenty two.

"So where to first?" Susan asked Fleur across the table.

"Zere is a club called Ichthys down ze street," said the older woman confidently. Hermione was glad to have Bill and Fleur with them, both of whom had spent a lot of time in Amsterdam over the years and had consent to acting as make shift guides.

"What?! I was going to take the guys to Ichthys!" cried Bill indignantly.

"Well, you'd better find somewhere else zen!" Fleur replied with a cheeky grin.

Bill looked sour for a moment before his face lit up and he said wickedly, "I'll just take them down to La Femme then shall I?"

Fleur glared at him.

"What's La Femme?" asked Padma.

"A gentlemen's club," replied George, adopting his brother's sly grin.

The women's voices rose to a clamour as each of them voiced their opinions on this suggestion. Hermione did not bother to offer her input, but her eyes found Ron's across the table. He raised his eye brows slightly at her and she knew that was his way of asking permission.

Hermione smiled and shrugged. She really didn't care what the boys did and she certainly wasn't threatened by a strip club. She had a little more faith in their relationship than that. Besides, she knew for a fact that Fleur planned on taking their group to a sex show at some point during the evening, something she'd quietly told Ron about days ago. Hermione wasn't such a big fan of double standards.

Eventually, the argument died down with the general consensus that each groups activities should be shared on a strictly need to know basis. Everyone seemed happy enough with that.

"Shall we go then?" asked Ebony brightly.

"Wait!" cried Hermione before dropping her old beaded bag onto the table and driving her arm into it, "I've got something for everyone."

She pulled out a glass jar full of bottle caps and began distributing them out among her friends.

"What are these?" asked Harry bemusedly.

"Remember in the DA how we had those fake galleons?"

"Yeah…"

"Well these are sort of the same thing. If any of us gets lost or separated or in trouble at any point, we just squeeze these and they'll burn for everyone else. Also, on the underside of the bottle cap, it'll say where they are," Hermione explained.

When she was done, she looked up to see mingled expressions of disbelief and exasperation.

"Hermione, you haven't changed at all," said Ron with a long suffering laugh.

She smiled, choosing to take his statement as a compliment.

Then, with minimal preamble and Hermione's bottle caps in their pockets, the boys began to stand and squeeze their way out of the crowded booth.

Before they left, Ron leant over the table and kissed Hermione before whispering in her ear, "Be safe."

"You too," she responded.

Soon enough, only Fleur, Padma, Isobel, Bo, Susan, Luna, Juliet, Ebony, Astoria, Ginny, and Hermione herself remained in the booth.

"Shall we have some drinks before we go?" asked Juliet hopefully.

Isobel, who was on the end seat, leapt up, saying she would grab the first round before disappearing into the throng of wizards crammed into the tiny café.

Hermione glanced sideways at Ebony who was seated next to her. The younger woman looked somewhat more subdued than she normally would and this concerned Hermione. It wasn't often that she didn't see Ebony not being her usual, bubbly self.

"You alright?" she said into Ebony's ear, loud enough that she could be heard over the din of voices around them.

The younger woman forced a smile and nodded, but then the smile dropped and she shook her head.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, frowning.

Ebony looked pained, "I want to tell you but… I don't want to ruin your night!"

"It won't ruin it, Eb, just tell me. What's going on?"

"I… I got a job offer. In India," the younger woman admitted.

"But… That's great! What's the problem?" Hermione exclaimed, further confused by Ebony's glum expression.

"Well, if I took it, I'd have to move. And Blaise too. We'd have to leave England."

"Oh," said Hermione, her face falling.

"Yeah."

The thought of losing Blaise was hard enough but losing Eb would feel like losing a little sister. Hermione had come to sort of rely on the younger woman. There was something Hermione got from her that she didn't get from Isobel or Astoria. Those two were like her fellow warriors, fierce like Hermione, loyal like Hermione and ready to fight beside her. But Ebony was more like a comfort, a warm blanket that made all the bad things in her life feel ok again. When Isobel and Astoria were around, Hermione felt stronger, prouder, but when Eb was around she felt like it was ok to be weak, ok to be flawed.

What would she do if the younger woman left? She knew, logically, that she'd be fine of course, Ebony wasn't the only source of comfort she had. Hermione was surrounded by fantastic, supportive people, but it would still hurt losing someone so important to her. And Ebony _was_ important, whether she realised it or not.

"So is that the only thing stopping you?" Hermione asked, trying to remind herself that Ebony's decision shouldn't be about her, "The thought of leaving England?"

Ebony frowned in thought and then said, "No, I don't think so… I mean, I'm sort of scared of the people I'd be working around to be honest. They're all really money driven and power hungry. I don't really want to turn into them. I feel like I've grown so much spending time around the tovarasi and I don't want to lose all that. But the money _would _be great, and it's India for fucks sake! It's beautiful over there! I don't know…"

"Well, you wouldn't lose us if you left Eb. We'll still be your family. _I'll _still be your family. I love you."

"I love you too, Hermione."

"And it's not like we'd never see each other again, is it?"

Ebony smiled sadly and shook her head, "No… But I'd still miss you. I can't imagine what life would be like not seeing you every week, not hearing your voice."

Hermione understood that entirely. Only a few months ago the younger woman had gone away on a research trip for two weeks and, because of the nature of her job, hadn't been allowed to contact any of her friends or family back home. During that time Hermione hadn't felt Ebony's absence every waking moment, she hadn't been depressed about it, but she'd certainly noticed it. She'd felt for those two weeks like something was missing from her life. There was a silence to it that felt unfamiliar. Of course, Ebony had come back excited and exhilarated by her trip, totally unaware of how Hermione had been affected but her absence had been noticed.

But, ultimately, Hermione just wanted the younger woman to be happy. And even if she selfishly didn't agree with Ebony leaving, if she was happy in India, if that life could make her content, then Hermione would help her pack with a smile on her face and she'd be ok, just knowing that this was something Ebony wanted for herself.

Hermione had just leant sideways to say as much to the younger woman when Isobel suddenly appeared at the table, her face slightly cracked under a mischievous smile.

"Where's our drinks?" demanded Ginny, laughing at Isobel's empty hands.

"I've found something better," Isobel replied, grinning, "How do we all feel about… _illicit _substances? Well, illicit back home anyway…"

Hermione exchanged a few glances with her friends, all of whom looked doubtful.

"What _kind_ of illicit substances are we talking about here?" asked Padma slowly.

"They sell a potion here," answered Isobel, "called Brandwond. Apparently it's paradise."

Hermione was shocked to notice the same grin Isobel wore creeping up Fleur's face.

"What does it do?" asked Juliet.

"Is it safe?" asked Hermione.

Isobel rolled her eyes and sat back down heavily at the table, "Look. They sell you a vial of the potion and a vial of the antidote. So, that means that if anyone has a bad reaction or doesn't like it, they just take the second vial and bam, it's gone. It's brewed by a qualified potion master and everything."

Hermione fought back the desire to laugh as the image of a man who looked remarkably like Snape, bent over a cauldron full of the wizarding equivalent to drugs, flashed inside her mind.

"Eet is not 'armful," Fleur put in, trying to look reassuring over her clear excitement, "You just feel 'appier for a leetle while. Eet sort of… turns you into a god. Like you become your 'igher self while you take it. You are perfect on zis potion."

"Why haven't I heard of this before?" asked Ebony, looking slightly suspicious.

"Eet is rare, expensive and illegal in England. I did not know zat zis café even prepared it," Fleur answered.

"They don't," said Isobel, "I met a couple of guys at the counter who told me about it. They said you can only get it from this bar called the Alchemist. They said they'll take us if we want."

Fleur rolled her eyes, grabbed her clutch and stood, saying, "Tell your boyfriend's we don't need zem. I know zis place well. Let's go."

Hermione stood along with the rest of the group and together, they pushed their way out of the cramped café and onto the street.

She didn't quite know how she felt about taking this potion. Her somewhat prudish sensibilities were rebelling against the idea. But a part of her wanted to. She hadn't experimented with magic like this since the Dividing Line and even though it was illegal in the UK, she reminded herself that the Zeitei Otrava had been too but that hadn't stopped her then so why should it stop her now?

Making her decision, Hermione pushed forward a little to catch up with Fleur as the group made its way down the busy street.

"Fleur, have you ever taken this stuff?" she asked in a low, serious voice.

"Yes, three times," the older witch answered.

"And do you think I'll enjoy it? I mean, be honest with me, is this an experience I want to have?"

"I can't answer zat 'Ermione. Zat is your decision. But I loved every moment of it. Ze potion is soft, eet is loving. You will not feel bad, I promise. And eef you do, I will give you ze antidote."

"Are you going to take some?"

Fleur shook her head. "No, not tonight. I will, perhaps, buy some for Bill and I for taking later but I will watch over all of you tonight. I will make sure you are safe."

Hermione nodded, already feeling better about the idea. She let herself become excited.

After a few more minutes' walk, Fleur announced their arrival and as Hermione looked up at the bar, she felt her jaw drop.

The bar was exactly what she would have pictured a magical shop as looking like when she was a child. Everything about the place was gothic from the stone carven entrance to the red velvet drapes that hung around the windows. Everywhere she looked she could see how much money had been poured into the establishment. And what made it especially eerie was the spooky green glow that covered everything, coming, of course, from the gigantic radiant emerald letters that magically scrawled themselves in the air above the bar that announced its name: The Alchemist.

This place was significantly less crowded than the café they had just been occupying and once the group had stepped inside, Hermione understood why. It was very clear that this was a place reserved for only the most respectable and aristocratic of wizards. Every chair and table was intricately carved from mahogany, the high, domed ceilings painted meticulously in the style of Michelangelo or similar and the walls were covered in damask wallpaper that looked like velvet up close. There was not a speck of dust or dirt anywhere. Hermione felt like the place was almost a work of art. She didn't want to touch anything for fear of smudging the paint.

Isobel and Fleur approached the bar confidently, with Hermione in tow, as the rest of the group moved to seat themselves in the far back corner to wait for their doses of potion.

A man, who looked just a little too pleased with himself, looked up as Hermione, Fleur and Isobel approached the bar.

"_Goedenavond mevrouw, hoe kan ik u helpen_?" he said in a bland, snooty sounding voice, the pompousness of which translated easily even if Hermione could not understand him.

Isobel smiled winningly and said, "_Hallo, kreeg ik te horen dat ik hier kon vinden Brandwond_."

The man raised a patronising eyebrow and gave a coughing little laugh that lacked any humour, "_U mag in staat zijn om het te vinden, maar ik betwijfel of je kon veroorloven_."

Isobel's eyes narrowed and her jaw stiffened, "_Geld zal geen probleem zijn, zal je verkoopt het aan mij of niet_?"

The man nodded, staring down his nose at her, "_Dat zal ik doen_."

"_Goed_," said Isobel, smiling smugly, "_Dan zou ik graag tien flesjes, alstublieft_."

"_Tien_?" asked the man in disbelief.

It was Isobel's turn to raise a patronising eyebrow as she responded drily, "_Heb ik stotteren_?"

The man's attitude changed perceptively. He gave a little bow, said, "_Meteen mevrouw, mijn excuses_," and disappeared through a door behind the bar.

Isobel rolled her eyes. "Pompous prat."

"What was all zat about?" asked Fleur.

"Tried to imply that we were too lower class to be in here."

"He said that?" demanded Hermione, shocked.

"He didn't need to," Isobel responded with a shrug, "That's the thing with these aristocratic purebloods, they communicate everything with these tiny, infinitesimal little gestures that only the trained eye can see."

The man appeared seconds later carrying a wooden box which he set down on the counter in front of Isobel. She opened the lid and peered inside.

Fleur looked over Isobel's shoulder at the contents and muttered, "Tell 'im zat eef eet is not pure, we will be back."

Isobel nodded and lifted her head to look at the man and said in a low voice, "_Als dit niet zuiver, we zullen terugkomen_."

He nodded curtly. "_Natuurlijk. Dat zal zeshonderd galjoenen_."

Isobel withdrew a small pouch from the folds of her cloak and began dolling out galleons. Hermione gasped in shock when she saw the amount being handed over and put her hand on Isobel's arm before the transaction could take place.

"Isobel! That's too much!" she exclaimed.

The younger woman laughed, "It's only six hundred galleons Hermione. You know how much I make. Think of it as a wedding gift."

Hermione withdrew her arm and stared, dumbfounded, as Isobel handed over a small fortune to the pompous man behind the bar who in turn handed her the wooden box.

"_Dank u_," said Isobel to the man, swiping up the box before leading Hermione and Fleur to the ornate couches in the back corner where the rest of their company were seated around a low table.

The three of them sat down and Isobel handed the box to Fleur who set it down on the table and opened it.

"Ok," she said, grinning around at them, "Ze purple potions are ze Brandwond and ze yellow is ze antidote. I will stay sober tonight so eef you feel at any point that you would like to stop ze effects of ze potion, come to me and I will give you ze antidote."

Hermione watched as she withdrew each vial of purple potion and handed them out amongst the company.

"Are we seriously going to do this?" asked Ginny, laughing breathily in disbelief.

No one answered her and she, like the rest of them, accepted her vial in silence after that. It wasn't until every single one of them held theirs in their hands that someone finally spoke.

"I'm sort of scared," said Luna.

"Me too," admitted Juliet.

Isobel snorted good naturedly, "Are you serious Jules? I know what you and George get up to once the shop's closed! Turning the back room into a Dutch oven!"

Juliet giggled, "Yeah, but that's different. That's just a bit of green. This stuff is serious!"

A silence fell as they all stared down at the little bottles in their hands. No one was game enough to make the first move. Every time someone came close, everyone's eyes would snap in their direction and they would understandably lose their nerve.

Finally, Hermione rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Oh for fucks sake. Here, look…"

Swiftly, she broke the polished max seal, flicked out the cork and tipped the entire contents of the vial down her throat amidst gasps from the rest of the group and a loud whoop from Isobel. She didn't know where this sudden bravery was coming from but for some reason, she felt like it was the right thing to do.

Instantly, Hermione felt different, began to see things differently. Her head was spinning slightly, but not in a bad way. It was quite pleasant actually. In fact, she found, as she looked around, everything was pleasant. _Very _pleasant.

"How does it feel?" asked Ebony in a somewhat awed whisper.

"Um…" Hermione responded and then laughed. Her voice was so damn _beautiful_! How had she never noticed that before? Like little bells that jingled around inside her head. Even her laughter was breathtaking! She couldn't stop! The sounds just kept bubbling out of her mouth and they were so fantastic that she was laughing at her own laughter. This went on for a few minutes until eventually, she calmed. She realised that, though it was ok for her to laugh, it was also ok for her to be still. Yes, still seemed best. In fact, it seemed almost better than the laughter.

"Hermione?" said Ginny warily, looking slightly alarmed. Her voice was amazing too! When Hermione looked up at the younger woman, all she could see was Ginny's irrepressible beauty! She wanted to paint her or write poetry about her. She wanted to touch her all over.

"Wow," Hermione responded, congratulating herself on such a wonderfully simple sentence. Where _did _she come up with this stuff?

"So I'm guessing that this is a good thing, right?" asked Susan, looking to Fleur.

"She'll get used to eet in a moment," Fleur replied, "Eet is a leetle overwhelming at first. But in a good way."

"Right, well I'm in," said Isobel before downing her own potion. Soon, the rest of the girls, except Fleur, followed suit until the table was surrounded by beaming, beautiful, bright faces.

The feelings were beginning to sink in now, Hermione was starting to feel somewhat normal. But at the same time, she was as far from normal as she could possibly be. She found she had this great acceptance for everything, this divine wisdom. Like she could do anything and that no matter what it was, it would always work out for the best. There was no right or wrong anymore just the fantastic, incomprehensible, infinite wonder of life and love.

"Shall we leave?" asked Fleur, addressing the question to Hermione.

Hermione thought for a moment before answering, "We could leave, or we could stay. Either way we will be exactly where we are meant to be."

Fleur laughed and rolled her eyes, "Yes, I forgot about zis. Ok girls, let's go. I want to take you to zis place, a very good club where you can dance."

"Dance?" said Susan dreamily, "That sounds wonderful! Let's dance!"

The whole group seemed to share this sentiment as they leapt to their feet to follow Fleur out of the bar and back into the street.

Outside, Hermione was in heaven. Where once the pressing density of the crowds was a little stifling, she now felt like every single person that brushed her or bumped into her was caressing her lovingly. She wanted to just stand there in the street and allow it, allow hundreds of people to slide across her skin over and over so that she'd never have to let this feeling go.

But Fleur led them resolutely on and they followed complacently.

There was something taking place inside Hermione's body, something that should have frightened her but instead it excited her. She felt like, in that moment, on that night, she was a master of expression. That was all her being was meant for on this planet, regardless of the war, regardless of the past, regardless of her life. Hermione, just like every other living thing, was meant to express. Usually, expression was hard because it meant being vulnerable, it meant trusting in another. But it wasn't hard right then, because Hermione was perfect. There was no part of her that wasn't perfect.

As they walked, Astoria came close to Hermione, sliding her arm around Hermione's waist.

"When we get to this club, I think we should dance together," Astoria told her, almost on cue, as if she too had been having the same revelation Hermione had been seconds before.

"Yes, I think that would be nice," Hermione replied, smiling and realising that there was nothing more that she could possibly want in this world than to have Astoria's body pressed up against her own. There was love and affection there that needed to be expressed, and she couldn't think of a better way to begin expressing it that with physical closeness and intimacy.

And so, they went to Ichthys, getting lost in the violent laser light, the smoky floor, the scent of sweat and alcohol. Hermione's body did not seem to tire, though they danced for hours, and the whole time, Astoria was right in front of her. There was no space between their bodies, no negativity, only love. And when Astoria's hand drifted up under Hermione's shirt to cup her breast, she did not push her away, she could only draw her closer. Hermione _needed _that touch, because it was the only real thing in her world right then and it felt like paradise. Astoria's skin was like silk, her tongue tasted like nothing she'd ever experienced.

As the hours passed, the potion did not wane, and Hermione saw many of her friends intertwined just as her and Astoria were, throughout the crowd. All she could do was smile when she saw Ginny's small hands wrapped in Luna's silken silvery hair, or Susan's arms clasped tightly around Padma, or Isobel's tongue leaving trails on Bo's neck, or Ebony's legs tangled with Juliet's. There was nothing sexual or deviant about it at all, this Hermione knew. She was touching Astoria and allowing Astoria to touch her because it felt like real magic, because it was an expression of the truest unconditional love, because when she had someone so beautiful right in front of her, she could do nothing but worship her in the only way she knew how.

And so the night progressed. One of the best of Hermione's existence.

It wasn't until about one in the morning that Hermione was finally inspired to break away from Astoria's embrace.

"You are luminous," said a voice behind her, right into her ear.

Hermione whirled to find Ron standing there, beaming. Both her and Astoria gave cries of joy and flung their arms around him.

"Brandwond?" he yelled over the music.

"Brandwond," she confirmed, nodding and smiling.

"Yeah," said Ron, "Us too."

She squealed in delight and hugged him again. She knew that both groups had agreed not to cross each other's paths at all over the course of the night but she couldn't have been happier to find Ron standing behind her and to see Harry, Blaise, Draco, George, Neville, Charlie, Percy, Eli and Bill joining their company too. They all, bar Bill, had that same ethereal, sanguine smile on their faces and the half skip in their steps.

It was the cherry on top of what had already been a wonderful experience. And now it was only going to get better. Their group felt complete again. Hermione hadn't realised it before but she hadn't really liked splitting up like that. The group shouldn't be divided. Never. It was a relief that they were all joined back together again now.

Draco pushed his way across the dance floor to their little group of three and Hermione and Astoria reacted in much the same way as they had to Ron's appearance, crying out in joy and hugging him. There was a moment wherein all four of them got a little lost in their enthusiasm and jumped up and down along with the music together, laughing and holding hands. But it was only a few seconds before they regained their composure.

"I think we should sit down somewhere," Hermione yelled over the music, realising that she wanted this.

Ron, Draco and Astoria all nodded eagerly and together the four of them wound their way off the dance floor, ascended a flight of stairs in the far corner of the club and found themselves in a sort of chill out space where the music was slightly quieter and more relaxing. Pillows were arranged on the floor surrounding tall, intricate looking hookahs, bathed in the roseate glow of many lanterns that lined the fabric draped walls. It looked, in essence, like an opium den.

Hermione gleefully skipped forwards to collapse on a pile of nearby pillows where she was quickly joined by her three companions. They spent a happy four minutes trying to get comfortable on their mountain of softness that seemed on the verge of swallowing them all up.

A young man, who Hermione and Astoria immediately become totally enchanted by, approached their group within seconds and said, "_Kan ikjewat te drinken_?"

"I'm sorry," said Astoria dreamily, trying to attractively drape herself over a pillow and failing, "We don't speak Dutch..."

The young man smile beautifully and said, "I can get you drinks?"

Hermione nodded and Ron said, "Sure mate, can we get four ciders thanks?"

"Of course," said the man, waving his wand and conjuring a tray with four bottles on it, "This is best, this cider, very top quality."

Hermione accepted hers when he handed it to her before he walked away and quickly discovered that it was the most delicious thing she had ever put in her mouth. Like, it really blew her mind, this cider. It was an effort not to down the entire thing in one go.

"So where has your night led you?" asked Astoria of Ron and Draco.

"Well," said Draco, taking the reigns as Ron seemed incapable of speech at present having suddenly become entranced by Hermione's hair, "We went to the strip club and had a few drinks. It was pretty cool at first but it got old quick. So we left and went to this bar that Bill knew called The Alchemist…"

"That's where we went!" cried Hermione.

Draco grinned, "Yeah I guessed that… anyway, he brings us this box full of potions, tells us to take some if we want to have best night of our lives and then… yeah… we went to a nightclub down the street with a jungle theme, had a, uh, dance for a bit, before we decided to come find you girls. Just felt right."

"I'm glad you did," said Astoria, beaming at her partner.

"Me too," Hermione reiterated, matching the younger woman's expression.

She lay back, resting her head in Ron's lap as he played with her hair, all the while watching Draco. He was so beautiful. She couldn't believe it. It was quite literally making her speechless. Everything about him was angelic and serene. Pure. Draco was pure.

Without thinking at all, Hermione got slowly to her knees and crawled across the space that separated them. She was vaguely aware of Astoria smiling and moving out of the way so that Hermione could take her place by Draco's side.

His eyes did not leave hers at any point as she moved towards him until they were so close she could feel her own breath hitting his face. Neither of them spoke a word. But when her hands rose slowly, her fingers twitching, until they touched his face, he sighed into her touch.

It felt so nice to touch him again, like this, tenderly and intimately. Not in friendship but in love.

Her thumbs ran lines from his nose, along his cheeks bones, down his jaw to his chin and then up, over his lips, over his nose, over his eyes and rested against his temples. Her hands pushed through his blonde hair, smoothed over the back of his neck, and his Adams apple and jugular vein. She felt his pulse. Draco was real under her hands again. She could have wept.

And she almost did when, finally, his hands rose too to touch her back. His thumbs traced her path, he felt her pulse too.

"I'm so in love with you, Hermione," he said, in a voice that was thick through his glowing smile.

"I'm in love with you too Draco," she responded in the same tone.

Draco turned his head to look at Astoria and Ron who were sitting next to each other, holding hands and beaming. Hermione looked too and felt so much joy at the sight that tears built in her eyes.

"We're in love with each other," she told them.

"We know," said Ron with no hint of malice or negativity. He only smiled at her a smile that came from the very bottom of his soul.

Together, she and Draco crawled across the distance until the four of them were sitting crosses legged, knee to knee.

"This is so beautiful," said Astoria after a moment, "I am so happy that you've both been able to say that to each other."

"Me too," said Ron.

Hermione leant sideways and nestled her head into Ron's neck, finding Draco's hand at the same time.

She felt almost like her heart was not big enough to hold so much happiness. She knew, instinctually, that she'd didn't need to tell Ron that she was in love with him too. And she knew that saying those words to Draco and hearing them returned didn't mean that they had to do something about it. She offered her love freely, with no expectations or ulterior motives. Only with the wish to express some of the huge emotions she was feeling. She loved Draco. She loved Ron. She loved herself.

Draco moved his hand out of hers and when she turned her head slightly from the curve of Ron's neck, she saw that his face was inches from hers. He moved forwardly slightly and kissed her, right there, while Ron's arm was around her waist and her head was pressed against his skin. She felt Ron shifting slightly under her body and when Draco broke the kiss to plant his lips on her neck, she looked up to see Astoria and Ron kissing too. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

Astoria's hand landed on Hermione's thigh and moved upwards. Ron's moved down to cup her ass. Draco's was inching underneath her shirt. And Hermione's were busy too. Her fingers were tangled in Ron's hair, pulling slightly as the heat in the room seemed to intensify. The other hand was tracing light patterns on Draco's stomach, along the seam of his pants.

When Astoria broke away from Ron, her lips immediately found Hermione's and the groan of pleasure that resonated out of Ron's chest immediately into Hermione's ear sent fire licking up her spine.

"We should do this," said Draco lowly.

"Agreed," said Ron.

Astoria pulled away from Hermione and looked at the both of them seriously. "We should have a sex? All four of us?"

"I think so," said Draco, nodding.

"I like that idea," whispered Hermione, smiling.

"Right now?" asked Ron.

Astoria shook her head. "No, not here. I don't want it to be like this. We should rent a place sometime, a holiday house on the coast. Just the four of us."

"Done," said Draco firmly.

They spent a couple of seconds smiling at each other blissfully before the urge to touch, to caress, to reach some sort of completion became too much. It began again. But this time, almost as if talking about it had solidified their resolve, there was something more urgent, a little rougher, about the way they touched each other. It wasn't long before they all fell back on the pillows, a tangle of limbs and hands and tongues.

"Oi!" cried a voice some minutes later.

Hermione pried her face away from Astoria's chest, feeling Ron's hand leave her ass and Draco's disappear from between her legs, to look up and find Bill standing in the doorway of the room, doubled over in laughter, and Fleur standing behind him looking amused and disapproving.

Bill began to saunter over to them as they hurriedly sat up, adjusting clothes and hair.

"Leave you kids alone for two fucking seconds and suddenly there's an orgy!" he exclaimed, grinning like a maniac.

Fleur batted his arm, "I told you zis was a bad idea! Look at zem!"

"Hey, it's not my fault. We just underestimated our caretaker capabilities! Watching out for a couple of you would have been easy, but not fucking twenty!"

"Why? Is everyone else alright?" asked Hermione, feeling a little dazed.

"Yes, of course," said Fleur hurriedly.

Bill laughed, "Yeah, apart from the fact that we've just spent the last eight hours running around prying you lot off each other! Only the just found Susan and Neville at it in the bathrooms!"

"Bill!" Fleur chided.

"Wait," said Ron, shaking his head as if to clear it, "What do you mean _eight hours_?!"

Bill produced four vials of yellow liquid from his cloak. "I mean it's eleven o'clock in the morning, little bro. Time to get you lot home I reckon."

Hermione, Ron, Draco and Astoria stared around at each other dumbfounded. Hermione knew for a fact that it had been about three am when they'd come up here, she'd checked her watch. Had they really been… _intertwined_ for eight hours?!

"So," said Astoria quietly, "Does that mean that the four of us just spent pretty much the entire night up here… making out?"

"Essentially, yeah. You four were the first to go," Bill laughed.

He handed them each a vial of antidote which they all took.

The effect was almost immediate. Hermione instantly felt absolutely mortified, tired, sore and overwhelmed all at once. And most of all, her lips hurt like nothing before.

She stumbled to her feet along with the other three.

"Wait, if it's eleven in the morning, why is the music still playing? Why haven't they booted us out?" asked Draco in a hoarse voice.

"Because zis is Amsterdam," Fleur replied matter-of-factly.

* * *

About half an hour later, Hermione stood on the hill beside the Burrow, blinking dazedly in the sunlight. On either side of her were Padma and Ebony, just as when they had left the previous afternoon.

"I still don't understand why we had to leave," grumbled Isobel off to Hermione's right somewhere.

She glanced across at Bill who, strangely, was looking somewhat guilty, "Well, it's been a long time since either of us took Brandwond and we, uh, may have forgotten about a few side effects."

Ron glared at his older brother, "Like what?"

Bill laughed nervously, "Nothing to be too worried about. It's just that the longer you stay on it, the harder the come down is afterwards and… We just forgot how, you know, how horny you get…"

This statement was meant by groans and cries of indignation from the group in order to stifle the end of Bill's sentence.

The noise must have alerted the house's occupants of their presence because suddenly the door to the Burrow burst open and out came Molly Weasley, Narcissa Malfoy, and Nina Granger.

"What the hell is my mother doing here?" moaned Draco, pitching sideways a little into Blaise.

"I don't feel well," said Luna before promptly bending over and vomiting all over her shoes. Ginny rushed to pull back her hair.

"Ah," said Bill with a feeble smile, "I'm guessing you drank alcohol last night? Yeah, you're not supposed to do that with Brandwond. Makes the come down worse."

It was Hermione's turn to glare, "What are you talking about Bill?! We _all _drank last night! Why the fuck didn't you tell us not to?!"

"We forgot," he shrugged, looking apologetic.

"I tried to tell you zis was all a bad idea," said Fleur to her husband.

Molly, Nina and Narcissa reached the group, their wide, excited smiles faltering at the sight of them. Without missing a beat, Molly surged forwards toward Bill, tea towel in hand and shrieked, "William Weasley!" hitting him with the tea towel for every syllable, "What have you done?! You were supposed to look after them!"

Bill cringed and cowered under his mother's attack, "Mum! I tried!"

"It doesn't very well look like it young man!"

"But… they don't look that bad, do they?" he asked weakly.

"They look as if they've just wandered out of Azkaban," observed Narcissa, looking amused.

"Honestly, we're fine," said Hermione, mustering the strength to speak as her energy seemed to be falling at speed, "We're just a little bit hung-over that's all."

"Right, well, in the house then. You can floo back to your own homes. I won't have you apparating in this state!" said Molly as she began ushering their rather wan looking group down the hillside towards the Burrow.

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione stood swaying dangerously in her own lounge room, sans Rose who had been left with her grandparents for another night, waiting for Ron to join her through the grate. When he finally stumbled out of the fireplace, he landed flat on his face and all she could manage at the sight was a feeble chuckle.

"Come on, let's get up to bed," she said huskily, helping him to his feet.

"Fuck I hope this clears up by tomorrow…" he groaned.

They wound their way up the stairs, each helping the other when they stumbled until they finally reached the bedroom and fell, fully clothed onto the bed.

"Wait…" said Ron wearily, "Isn't it supposed to be bad luck for the two of us to sleep in the same house tonight?"

Hermione moaned, "I don't care. It's not night anyway, it's only midday. Doesn't count."

Ron nodded and then began to giggle feebly, "Hey guess what?"

"What?"

"I got a tattoo last night."

"You _what_?" Hermione exclaimed, her voice hoarse.

"Yeah," he responded, grinning, before lifting his shirt to reveal a small otter tattooed on his pubic bone. "It's for you."

"Wow Ron… that's uh… really sweet," she said doubtfully. To her, the otter looked half deformed.

"Harry got one too," he told her then, dropping his shirt back over the tattoo, "And Draco."

"What did they get?"

"Well, Harry got a horse for Ginny… or at least I think it was a horse. And I don't know what Draco got. He wouldn't show us."

"That's weird."

"Yeah."

She couldn't muster the energy to speak anymore. She knew dimly that the mortification for all the things that had taken place that night would hit her at some point but right at that moment, all she felt was an all-encompassing, irrepressible exhaustion.

Within seconds, Hermione and Ron were sound asleep.

* * *

"Hermione… Hermione! Wake up!"

Abruptly, consciousness chased away her dreams and Hermione sat bolt upright. It was completely dark aside from the single lantern that had been lit in her room. She looked to her right to find that Ron was not there, and when she looked to her left, there was Isobel standing beside the bed, looking pale with dark rings under her eyes.

"Oh god," Hermione groaned, lifting a hand to her head, "I feel like…"

"Like death, I know," Isobel finished her sentence in a weak voice.

"What time is it?"

"The crack of stupid. Come on, we've got to start getting ready," Isobel answered shortly, "There's coffee and fags downstairs."

Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed, "Pepper up potion?"

Isobel looked pained and shook her head, "Doesn't work. Padma's had four vials. Nothing."

"What about George's cure?" asked Hermione in a slightly panicked voice.

Isobel only shook her head again.

Hermione groaned. Today was not going to be easy.

The two of them made their way downstairs to the kitchen where Ebony, Susan, Ginny, Luna, Padma, Juliet and Astoria where draped around various surfaces looking just as bad as Hermione felt.

"Where's Ron?" asked Hermione as Padma pushed a cup of coffee into her right hand and Astoria placed a lit cigarette into her left.

"I made Harry come and collect him last night," Ginny yawned, "Couldn't have you two sleeping in the same house night before the wedding. Bad luck."

Hermione fought the temptation to roll her eyes as she collapsed onto one of the unoccupied kitchen chairs and stuck the cigarette in her mouth.

"So Amsterdam was wild, huh?" said Ebony with a criminal amount of sly enthusiasm. True to her character, she knew she was pushing a button and she was going to push it anyway. That's what Hermione loved about her.

"I'm going to kill Bill and Fleur," said Hermione through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, why would they have let us have that stuff if they knew that was what it was going to do?" demanded Padma, "Least when I'm drunk I don't remember any of it… But the whole night's as clear as fucking day!"

Ginny shrugged, "From what I heard back home, it sounded like they both bit off more than they could chew. Thought they could watch all of us, make sure we didn't get up to anything too bad."

"Yeah well they got that wrong, didn't they?" Isobel giggled.

"I feel quite sorry for them actually," said Luna vaguely, "I mean, they did try. Fleur must have walked in on me, Dean and Ginny at least a dozen times…"

"Luna!" cried Ginny, cutting her off.

Ebony grinned wickedly, "You, Dean _and _Ginny?! Where was Harry in all of this?"

"Oh, he was there too," said Luna.

Ginny buried her face in her arms as the rest of the woman giggled madly. After a moment she lifted her head and glared around at them viciously. "Don't you all laugh! You did it too! Don't think I didn't see you and Blaise, Eb, disappearing into that alcove thing with…"

"Ginny!" Ebony _and _Juliet exclaimed at exactly the same time before flashing each other mortified looks amidst a gale of laughter from their friends.

"Uh, were Eli and I the only ones who _didn't _participate in an orgy that night?" asked Padma wryly.

Susan chuckled, looking smug and said, "No."

Hermione cackled along with the rest of them as her and Astoria exchanged a knowing look. But she was glad to find that there was no malice in that look, no bad blood. They were as close as they ever were, the whole group, if not closer. She was happy to see that now that the subject had been breached, it seemed like everyone was just going to put it down to a crazy night in Amsterdam.

She knew that what had taken place between her, Ron, Draco and Astoria would remain a secret. Whether Astoria and Ron had put the things her and Draco had said to each other down to the potion or not wasn't her concern. She'd meant what she'd said about being in love with him, and she got the feeling that Draco had meant it too. It was a relief to get it out there really, made their whole past feel so much less scary. The two of them had been fast friends ever since she'd shown up at his house the previous year and the night in Amsterdam hadn't changed that at all. Hermione was happy about that. All they'd done was acknowledge something that had long been felt but never uttered. That was all. They'd expressed themselves.

The past was dead and gone and that morning, as she sat around her kitchen table with her bridesmaids and smoked and drank coffee and laughed despite how awful they all felt physically, Hermione really felt that. She really felt like the past was properly behind her, not breathing ominously on the back of her neck. She supposed, really, that she'd felt like that for quite a while. But it wasn't until right then that she noticed it.

She was grateful for it.

And despite her acidic hangover, despite the roiling in her stomach and the headache that was threatening to make her day a living hell, Hermione Granger was ready to marry Ron Weasley.

By seven am, the makeup witches had arrived along with Nina, to try their best to make the group look less like murder victims and more like a wedding party. They set up shop in the kitchen and tittered along with Hermione and the rest of the bridesmaids easily, the only tense moment being when Hermione's seemed adamant on making her wear red lipstick, a resolution she stuck to until Hermione threatened to push her wand so far up the woman's nose she'd see stars. The girl quite wisely dropped the idea after that.

By eleven am, they were finally ready, dangerously behind schedule. Hermione had been squeezed into her cerulean dress, her hair had been tamed and her face made up until no one would be able to tell she felt like she was going to pass out any second. She'd felt absolutely fine until they'd told her to stand up and it seemed like the rest of the bridal party felt much the same. They were a different group from the one laughing down in the kitchen as they all stood silently in the hallway by the front door, teetering perilously in four inch heels.

It was only then that Hermione began to seriously doubt whether or not they'd be able to pull this off.

Soon, they were given the all clear and stumbled out into Hermione and Ron's front garden to apparate to the Burrow. It was a wonder none of them were splinched on the journey.

Molly, Arthur, and Barry met them at the apparition point and led them towards the great, golden marque on top of the hill that could have been the same one used for Harry and Ginny's wedding. By this time, they were twenty minutes late.

"Hermione," Ebony whispered as they stood outside, waiting for the music to begin and the gossamer curtains to be pulled aside so that the procession could start, "I think Isobel may not be quite up for this."

Hermione glanced at her friend at the head of the line and thought she might agree. There was a faint sheen of sweat on the younger woman's brow and her bouquet of flowers was drooping in her hands.

"She'll be fine," hissed Hermione sharply, "She's only got to walk down the bloody aisle and then that's it. We'll all be fine. The wedding will be fine."

But despite her words, Hermione felt a sharp pang of guilt and concern. She felt like it was her fault all of them had to go through this. With a sigh, she pushed forwards a little to stand next to her best friend and said quietly, "Are you alright?"

Isobel shook her head and said through gritted teeth, "Don't make me talk."

"What?"

"Don't make me talk or I'll vomit. I can do this."

Hermione patted her feebly on the arm, flashed her a delicate smile and moved back to stand by her father. Her view was certainly a bleak one. Not one of her bridesmaids looked particularly happy to be there. And she couldn't blame them. By rights she herself should have been lying on the bathroom floor with her head in the toilet. But, this was her wedding. Wouldn't really work without her presence. She was stronger than that.

The music swelled, the curtains parted. Hermione watched as Isobel headed the line and began to walk slowly down the aisle with faltering footsteps, followed by Ginny, Padma, Luna, Susan, Juliet and, finally, Ebony.

Then, it was Hermione's turn. She linked her arm through her father's, who seemed on the verge of laughter at the sight of them all, and began to walk.

At first, all she could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other. Heel, toe, heel, toe. But then, she looked up and saw them all arranged there. Her bridesmaids on the right, looking tired but smiling radiantly, and Ron's groomsmen, led by Harry, on the left. They looked about as bad as the bridesmaids, just as sick, just as happy.

But in the middle was Ron and despite the fact that she knew how he felt, knew he was probably on the verge of vomiting, he was still smiling so brightly that it almost hurt her eyes. And then all Hermione could do was smile back. She realised then, that this was the happiest day of her life. None of the rest of it mattered.

Hermione came to stand beside him, her Dad handed her over to her soon to be husband, kissed her on the cheek, and moved back.

"Dearly beloved," said the wizard presiding over the ceremony, the same one who'd been at Harry and Ginny's wedding, "We are gathered here today…"

Something was moving in the corner of Hermione's eye. She turned her head to see Isobel swaying slightly. She really did look rough. The younger woman had that look of someone in deep concentration, staring fixedly at the floor at her feet.

"To celebrate the…"

Hermione realised then that she'd made the, it was already beginning to seem, crucial mistake of allowing children at the wedding. She could hear Rose behind her saying, "Mummy? Is this a parpy?" while Nina tried to quiet her, Nikki grizzling behind them and James somewhere in the back of the church moaning loudly about being made to sit still by his uncle Charlie.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley…"

Hermione was beginning to feel quite hot in her dress. Had she put on weight since they'd bought it? It really was a bit tight… Oh _god_, what if she looked like some fat cow stuffed into a cerulean, condom like tube and no one had told her?

"Wilt thou love her, cherish her…"

Her mind really needed to shut up. This was her wedding for fucks sake. She was supposed to be radiant in her happiness. Hermione immediately plastered a somewhat manic smile across her face and Ron gave her a slightly alarmed look in response.

"Comfort and keep her…"

Rose seemed to be making quite a fuss back there. Her incessant questions were beginning to sound whiny and Nina appeared to be having absolutely no luck in silencing her. This boded ill.

"For better, for worse…"

Hermione looked up at Ron who was looking backwards at Rose and his mother in law. Hermione turned to see Rose struggling fiercely in her grandmother's arms. With a resigned sigh, Hermione held out her hand and Nina released the little girl who toddled frantically across the space dividing her from her parents and immediately disappeared into the folds of Hermione's dress as both her and Ron took one of Rose's chubby little hands.

"So long as you both shall live?"

With a start, Hermione's attention snapped back to the wizard in front of them just in time to hear Ron say, "I will," and beam at her.

"Hermione Jean Granger…"

She resisted the urge to say, "Present," in response.

"Wilt thou take Ronald Bilius Weasley…"

Hermione became vaguely aware of Isobel's bouquet beginning to droop out of the corner of her eye.

"In sickness…"

Yes, Isobel was definitely swaying now. Hermione looked round in alarm just in time to see Blaise, in full dress robes, launch across the aisle. Isobel's legs began to fold under her in a slow motion type curtsy and she collapsed in a heap, straight into Blaise's arms.

"Wilt though love him…"

Blaise was then dragging Isobel shiftily towards the side flap of the marque, her feet trailing along the ground out of her dress as if she were a dead body.

"Honour and obey…"

Hermione briefly considered following Blaise and Isobel outside the tent to see if she was ok before she remembered what she was supposed to be doing.

"So long as you both shall live?"

There was a pause wherein the wizard glanced politely between Ron and Hermione, both of whom were staring at the tent flap behind which Isobel and Blaise had just disappeared. After a second, Blaise appeared again, gave them both the thumbs up, and went back to his patient. Hermione gave a giggle, Ginny elbowed her in the ribs and gave her a loaded look before Hermione turned back to Ron and said, "I will," with laughter in her voice.

"I now declare you husband and wife," said the wizard.

The marque exploded in applause as Hermione was swept up into a kiss by her husband.

* * *

Weeks later, after a long and relaxing honeymoon in Paris, Hermione found herself sitting on her front porch, puffing on a cigarette with Astoria at her side. The sun was setting on the horizon and Hermione felt truly content to be there with one of the people she loved most.

"Hermione," said Astoria quietly, after some time spent in contemplative silence, "That night in Amsterdam, you know how you and I… how we…"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, the contentedness vanished in a puff of smoke. She was suddenly worried that Astoria was about to bring up that awful foursome idea. It had made an appearance in her mind every now and then since and she'd firmly decided that it was never going to happen. She absolutely did not have the sexual charisma to pull that off. She'd hoped, desperately, that she'd not been the only one to put it down to a moment of potion induced insanity. "Yes…" she responded after a moment.

"Well, everyone was doing it weren't they? All the girls were being… intimate?" asked Astoria, trying to keep her voice low.

"Yeah, it was kind of hard not to," Hermione replied with a snort. She remembered what the potion felt like clear as day. It didn't seem possible at the time not to physically show her love to someone she felt so much for.

Astoria grimaced. "I know but… well, the boys were on it too weren't they? Before they came and found us? So… I mean… do you think they…?"

Hermione groaned and put a hand to her forehead, "Oh god…"

* * *

A/N – So I hope I'll be posting again from here on out. Fingers crossed. I can't make any promises but keep your eyes peeled. I'll try not to let you down again.

Also, I'm not going to reply to any reviews right now because... well... I don't have any proper excuse. I'm just lazy lol. But I will soon!

Missed you guys.

Xx

Desdemona

Dutch translations (Isobel's conversation with the barman at The Alchemist):

_Goedenavond mevrouw, hoe kan ik u helpen_? - Good evening miss, how may I help you?

_Hallo, kreeg ik te horen dat ik hier kon vinden Brandwond_. - Hello, I was told I could find Brandwond here.

_U mag in staat zijn om het te vinden, maar ik betwijfel of je kon veroorloven_. - You may be able to find it but I doubt you could afford it.

_Geld zal geen probleem zijn, zal je verkoopt het aan mij of niet_? - Money will not be a problem, will you sell it to me or not?

_Dat zal ik doen_. - I will.

_Goed_. _Dan zou ik graag tien flesjes, alstublieft_. - Good. Then I'd like ten vials, please.

_Tien_? - Ten?

_Heb ik stotteren_? - Did I stutter?

_Meteen mevrouw, mijn excuses_. - Right away miss, my apologies.


	9. The Year That Life Grew

9.

THE YEAR THAT LIFE GREW

_May 2__th__, 2009._

Hermione rolled onto her back, but the weight was too much. She tried to roll onto her stomach, but no. Of course that wouldn't work. And so, with a sigh, she remained on her side. Always on her side. How could anyone be so uncomfortable and still be expected to function as a human being?

Sleep wasn't coming. She'd known that when she'd went to bed really, but she'd tried to remain steadfastly in denial up until that point. Just like she always did. It was a game that wasn't fun, this sleep thing. She still tried to pretend that it wasn't a commodity she was yearning for, like it was a normal thing that came and went just like the night and day. But it wasn't and it hadn't been for quite a while now. A restless doze was all she could manage, and only if she was absolutely dead on her feet. Deep, fitful sleep was a thing of the past.

Hermione opened her eyes, squinting vaguely through the dim light seeping through her curtains. It must have been about four o'clock in the afternoon by the way the sunlight was glowing on the floorboards.

There was a cup on the bedside table. On Ron's side of the bed. It was a coffee cup.

With a grunt Hermione pushed herself to her hands and knees and crawled unsteadily across the bed to look inside the cup. It was half full of what must have been coffee at some point, but the milk had congealed around the surface making it barely recognisable. Now that she was so close she could smell the slightly the sharp tang of sour milk and strong coffee causing her to wrinkle her nose.

Still scowling slightly, Hermione collapsed onto her back and rolled her eyes when the weight made it too difficult to breathe. She rolled onto her side again and her mind wandered.

She was over being confused about all this by that point. If she had come to some kind of acceptance about her present state of being it was a bitter sort. Every day felt endless.

What felt like almost an hour later, a knock on the bedroom door roused her out of her contemplation. She grunted in response and when Ron's red hair proceeded him into the room, she tried to stop herself scowling. Without really knowing why, Hermione felt almost overwhelmingly annoyed with him in that moment. For god's sake, it was _his _house and _his _room, why in the hell did he feel the need to knock every time he wanted to enter? Was she really that terrifying?

He approached the bed and said, "How was your day?"

"Fine," she replied tightly.

He shifted slightly on his feet, letting a pause that went for far too long fill the space between them before he finally spoke. "We're going to be late."

Hermione's voice was weary in her response, just like her body, just like her mind. "I told you, Ron, I'm not going."

He grimaced. "But, Hermione, you can't miss today. It's the eleventh anniversary. We _never _miss this."

"Yeah, well, I'm pregnant."

"You were pregnant on the ninth anniversary and you still came…" he said sullenly.

"Yes. I am aware of that. But I did not feel then like I do now," she responded in a tone that was almost a growl.

"So what are you going to do then?"

"I am going to lie here and try to sleep. Same thing I have been doing every day for the past three weeks. Ok? Is that alright with you Ron?"

He put his hands up in the air in a gesture of supplication, "Yeah, fine. Do what you need to do."

"Where's Rose?"

"At mum and dads."

Hermione rubbed at her eyes, "I am capable of taking care of my own daughter…"

Ron didn't reply. He didn't even look at her. He just walked out. Hermione rolled over again, staring at the cup of cold, old coffee sitting on the nightstand beside the bed.

* * *

_May 5__th__, 2009._

"I don't understand. I just don't get it. You _know _how important that day was! For Christ's sake, Blaise and Draco showed up and they'd literally been in the middle of curse fire hours before!"

Harry was pacing up and down the length of her kitchen and Hermione's narrowed eyes watched him ceaselessly. He'd tried to keep his cool when he'd arrived, she could see it, but his frustration with her had bubbled over soon enough just as she'd known it would.

Harry just didn't get it.

"I don't understand why it's such a big deal…" she said wearily.

Harry looked at her as if she'd just said something incredibly stupid. "A big deal? You… what? It was a big deal because we wanted you there! People wanted to see you, to celebrate your contribution to it all!"

Hermione measured her words before she began to speak. She did not want to make him angrier but deep down she knew it was probably inevitable. He was as tired of her as everyone else was.

"It's been nine years, Harry. Nine. I just don't feel the need to celebrate it anymore, ok? I don't see it as so important. It's just… you know, it's in the past. It's over. Frankly, I don't like remembering it."

"You don't like remembering our _victory_?" he scoffed, "We won, Hermione! What's not to celebrate?!"

"The victory was all well and good, but what about everything that came before that? What about all the death and madness? Not to mention what came after… I'm sorry but the victory was just one moment in the middle of a whole heap of pain. I don't _want _to celebrate it anymore. I'm tired."

Hermione didn't really know if she believed everything she was saying to him, but it seemed like a far more valid excuse for not attending the anniversary feast than the fact that she was just tired full stop. Usually, she enjoyed them, but that year it had just felt like too much of a chore. And it wasn't the remembering that made it seem that way. It was all the smiling she'd have to do and the speech she'd have to give as an honoured member of the Golden Trio. It was the food she'd have to eat, the hands she'd have to shake, and the trip down memory lane taken at around one in the morning when everyone was well and truly sloshed that she'd have to participate in.

She just wanted to _sleep_. Why was it that the one thing she craved was so impossible? And why was this just so fucking _hard _this time? Her term with Rose had been easy in comparison, she'd been the image of a glowing expectant mother, all clucky and nesty, ready to have her child. She'd had bad days of course, but nothing like this. This time the bad days ran together so much so that she lost track of time, couldn't distinguish one day from the last. It felt like she was reliving the same twenty four hours over and over again with the only notable difference being that her stomach got ever larger. And her lack of sleep wasn't helping either. When she watched the sun rise, then set, then rise again without closing her eyes, she felt mad. Truly insane. And it felt like no one cared. Any time she'd ever voiced her feeling to anyone, her mother or Ginny or Ebony both of whom were carrying their own pregnancies with a frustrating amount of grace, they'd just pat her arm sympathetically and tell her she had baby brain. That's it. As if she was supposed to stop feeling all these things just because she'd been told her hormones were wreaking havoc on her body.

The only person who really saw it, who really got how bad it was getting, was Ron. And he was taking it differently every day. Sometimes he'd be loving and sympathetic. He'd make her tea and rub her feet, but then he'd just get frustrated when it didn't appear to help. It did, of course, but Hermione didn't know how he wanted her to show her gratitude aside from saying thank you. That just didn't seem to be good enough anymore.

Other days, he acted like he was terrified of her. He'd slink in and out of rooms she occupied, treating her like a hostile enemy bound to attack at any moment.

And Hermione just didn't understand _why_. It wasn't like they were fighting a lot. In fact, they'd fought less in the last few months than they had in their entire relationship. Where usually she'd snap at him or get angry, now she just sighed. Her rare remonstrations were weary. Of course, she still felt the same anger and annoyance under the surface but she just didn't have the energy to voice it.

Just like that afternoon with Harry. He didn't seem to be ready to accept any excuse she had for not attending the ninth anniversary feast. He just wanted to rant at her and it didn't really matter how she responded to it, he'd do it anyway.

Eventually, she let him do just that, she let him have his vent, until, seeming marginally mollified, he left her house.

After that, Hermione pushed herself up the stairs and into the bedroom where she collapsed onto the bed and stared at that half empty cup of coffee on the nightstand.

* * *

_May 16__th__, 2009._

The piano, that was what did it. That was what moved her the most. The fact that she could hear the weight of the musician's fingertips falling on the keys, as if he felt all his sadness, all his weariness right there in his skin and he was playing it out. He needed it out of him, she could hear that, she could feel that. The piano was his purge. Where others would cry, that man wept with notes.

Hermione sighed into it, a faint smile playing across her lips, her fingers tapping across the wooden arm of her chair along with the music coming from Remus's old record player.

It was the only time she felt anything close to happiness. Beethoven, Bach, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, it was all she could listen to. Nothing else made her feel this good.

Hermione sat alone in the study, legs folded under her as she listened intently, her eyes closed. She chose this room often, because she was mourning it. It would, after all, soon be a nursery for her son. But it was her favourite place of all, the walls lined with books, high windows forming dust moats in the air, ancient fireplace warming the room, fire crackling merrily in the grate. She loved this room. And soon it would be gone. Of course, Ron had said many times that they'd put in an extension soon so that she could have her study back, but she knew he'd probably never get around to it. And besides, even if he did, it still wouldn't be _this_ room, wouldn't be the place she'd chosen for herself the moment they'd bought this house together. Her oasis.

With a creak that made Hermione jump, the door of the study swung open and in strode Ron, daily Prophet in one hand, plate of warm croissants in the other. He approached her chair and set the plate down on the small table next to it, never taking his eyes off the paper.

"How're you feeling today?" he asked blankly, taking a croissant and depositing it straight into his mouth.

"Fine," she replied, allowing her eyes to drift closed again.

"Mmf," he grunted through his mouthful before finally looking up at her, "Why do you listen to this dross?"

"It's not dross," she said with a sigh.

"It's depressing."

"Not for me it isn't. I like it. It's like… this music is on my level. It can't make me down because we're… singing the same tune anyway. Know what I mean?"

Ron snorted, "Nope, but that's nothing different. Anyway, we're supposed to be doing dinner at the Burrow tonight… And let me guess, you're not coming?"

Hermione smiled lazily through all of Ron's passive aggression. "Got it in one baby."

She thought she caught him rolling his eyes as he left the room.

Why didn't he understand? All she could do was disappoint people now. No one liked her mood, no one liked that they couldn't change it, Hermione had become nothing more than an inconvenient mess to them. And it was exhausting playing out that roll. She just wanted to be left alone. When she was alone she could find a sort of peaceful contentedness, it was only in company when that morphed into depression.

She went to bed that night on her own. Ron hadn't come home.

She ignored the cup.

* * *

_May 20__th__, 2009._

Hermione found herself in the study again that Wednesday night, but for a change, she was not alone. And her company was strange company indeed.

"You were not at the tovarasi dinner on Sunday night," said Narcissa, straight backed and cold looking as usual in the chair across from Hermione in front of the fire.

"I… I didn't know it was a tovarasi dinner," Hermione replied with just the right amount of guilt laced into her tone.

But Narcissa was more cunning than that. "Come now, Hermione. Do not pretend it would have mattered whether you knew or not. The outcome would have remained the same."

There was no remonstration in the older woman's tone, no disapproval, only cold honesty. There was the impression that Narcissa didn't care either way what the reason was. She only seemed to want to make it clear that lies weren't necessary.

Nonetheless, Hermione didn't know how to respond at all. She didn't really know why this visit was even taking place. Narcissa hadn't shown up unannounced by any means, in fact she'd sent a letter on Monday and then another letter just to confirm hours before her arrival. And Narcissa Malfoy was the sort of woman Hermione didn't feel comfortable blowing off, regardless of how confusing her sudden investment in Hermione was.

Still, years after Azkaban, Narcissa was quiet and reserved and when she did speak, her words were often worth listening to. If she'd taken the time to organise a visit with Hermione, it must have been something important. And aside from all that, Hermione felt just a tiny bit glad to be seeing a new face, it was always the same people moving through her house and she had exhausted the sympathies of every one of them to the point that they seemed incapable of talking to her about anything other than her pregnancy. She hoped Narcissa would over some respite to that. Perhaps she needed legal advice, something Hermione could sink her teeth into, get passionate about. Hell, she'd even welcome some underlying drama with Draco if it would just break the monotonous thoughts she was having about her own condition.

But, even after sitting in polite silence for fifteen minutes, Narcissa still had not said why she was there, justifying Hermione's confusion.

"How are you?" asked the older woman, sipping her tea delicately, finally breaking the silence.

"Fine," Hermione responded quickly, automatically.

Narcissa raised a perfectly groomed eye brow. "Is that what they are calling blind fear now? Fine, is it?"

"Blind fear?" asked Hermione with a faint tone of disbelief.

"Well that's what you are feeling, isn't it?"

"I… I don't know what I'm feeling," she responded in a slightly cracked voice.

Narcissa smiled. "Clever girl like you, Hermione, I'm surprised. And with your control complex, you must be going mad."

"I think I might be a bit, yeah," said Hermione weakly.

"Good," said Narcissa with a firm nod, "I think anyone who doesn't go mad when pregnant must be mad already. So that's something."

Hermione let out a surprised giggle, "What?"

"Well, if you think of it logically, pregnancy releases all sorts of hormones into your body that wreak havoc on your sense of normality. So, I can only come to the conclusion that those women who wander around glowing for nine months are either completely out of their minds already so that the hormonal change makes barely a difference, or they're doing a very good job of hiding how they really feel. You are neither glowing nor pretending to glow, therefore, you are not usually mad."

"Only now?"

Narcissa nodded. "Only now."

"Right."

"And you can be comforted by the fact that it will pass soon and your insanity will subside back into the usual."

"What do I do until then?"

"Give into it, of course. Be mad. It's the only way," said Narcissa as if it were obvious.

Hermione nodded mutely, both shocked at the older woman's candidness and disappointed that they'd seemingly inevitably arrived at the very same subject she just couldn't get away from. She only hoped that Narcissa hadn't yet gotten to her point, that this was merely courtesy and there was still some deeper reason for her visit.

"Narcissa," said Hermione uncertainly, "Forgive me if this sounds rude but I'm curious: why did you come and see me tonight?"

The older woman shrugged contemptuously and set down her cup and saucer to regard Hermione with a cold stare. "I merely wanted to help, Hermione. I know I have not seen you while you have been in this state but I have heard the way the others spoke about you with tones of pity and sympathy and frustration. I couldn't imagine how they must have been treating you directly…"

"With pity and sympathy and frustration," Hermione confirmed for her in a somewhat bitter tone.

"And in my mind those thing are probably the very last things you need. I am here because I know what it is like to experience a difficult pregnancy. I have been there. The other girls haven't yet gotten it, perhaps they never will. But they are not women like you and I, Hermione."

Hermione tried to stop herself grimacing. She didn't know how she felt about being a woman like Narcissa Malfoy. Of course, over the years since her release from Azkaban, the older woman was slightly more jovial and if she was still as judgmental as she once was, she hid it well. But none the less, she was still cold underneath it all, still had the shadows in her eyes that were the horrors of her past actions and beliefs. Narcissa was a tortured woman. And for the most part, she had been the one to inflict that torture on herself. Just like Hermione really. As much as it irked her, Hermione could see that there were similarities between the two of them. She just didn't want them so easily pointed out.

"When I was pregnant with Draco," said Narcissa suddenly, after a moment of silence, "I felt like the whole world was fighting against me and that if I let down my guard for just a moment, I would be crushed under the weight of its onslaught."

She sighed wearily before she spoke again, and when she did, her voice had taken on a darker tone. One that made Hermione squirm, like she was watching something private, something she shouldn't be seeing.

"I don't mind telling you, Hermione, that… I… I hated him. I hated Draco when I carried him. And I hated him when he came out. At first I thought that it might ease, you know, I thought that as he got older I'd learn to love him. I tried to comfort myself with that, can you imagine? That I'd _learn _to love my own child… But I didn't. No matter how much time passed, I couldn't bring myself to feel anything for him at all. He tried so hard to be close to me when he was little and his every attempt only caused me to move further and further away."

Hermione was visibly distressed by now. She didn't want to hear any of this, didn't want to hear that there was a possibility that she would hate her own son when he was born. She didn't want to hear that there was a possibility she hated him _now_. She couldn't bare the fact that the things that Narcissa was saying were resonating deep within her. But despite her feelings, Narcissa ploughed on ruthlessly, eyes constantly boring into Hermione's own with fiery intensity.

"I saw him as a testament, a monument, to every single thing I had ever done wrong in my life, and every mistake I was yet to make. He was more than an annoyance to me, he was an illness, a plague. I felt like if I got too close I would be infected," Narcissa gave a quiet, sad little laugh, "The ironic thing is, that is exactly what happened. I let him get too close and I became infected. I don't really know when it happened or how, but one day, just before his tenth birthday I saw him as my son rather than…" she swallowed thickly, "Rather than Lucius's creature. I saw that Draco would _become_ his father and I found that I hated that idea more than I hated him. So I held him close, as much as I could I held him. Lucius used to say that I coddled him, that I'd brought him up to be weak. I think he was jealous, because Draco didn't run to his father anymore, he ran to _me_."

Narcissa sighed again, raising a hand to flutter over the skin of her cheek. Her eyes finally strayed away from Hermione's face, to look blankly at the carpet, unseeing.

"You know," she said quietly, "I sometimes hope that my love and the fact that I'd given it changed Draco just a little. I sometimes hope that my love was the reason he did not kill Dumbledore, was the reason he was capable of changing in the end, was the reason he could love _you_, Hermione… But… but I also fear that perhaps my withholding it for so long was what drove him into the ranks of the Death Eaters, what drove him to commit the atrocities he did."

"Perhaps both," said Hermione, finally speaking.

Narcissa's eyes snapped up to hers and there was a familiar look of desperation on her face, the same look Hermione had seen on Draco so many years ago.

"You know," said Hermione with a sad smile, "I think that… that we as humans think of things in one of two ways. We either see the best possible scenario or the worst. We seem incapable of perceiving both at the same time. And because of that, we miss the fact that so often reality sits somewhere in the middle, somewhere in between the best and worst cases. And… and when you think of it like that, it doesn't seem so bad. It's not as scary."

"Yes," breathed Narcissa, nodding, "Yes, you're right. Thank you."

They sat in silence for a moment. Narcissa drained her cup of tea in an uncharacteristic show of gracelessness, before going about making herself and Hermione another cup. Hermione watched the older woman as she bent over the tea tray and she felt pained. It was so easy, nowadays, to forget the hurt of the war and all that had come before it. So many years had passed, had washed away all the blood and rubble and scorch marks. But there before her was an example of it all. Hermione finally understood why Narcissa had come. She'd come because something in Hermione's situation had triggered her pain, had moved that old, aching muscle in exactly the wrong way. And the older woman had needed to confront it.

Hermione hoped it had helped at least a little.

She also saw her own possible future and what she herself was capable of doing to her children. Of course, when she got so caught up in her own suffering, she barely saw them, both Rose and her unborn son, at all. They were becoming, to her, exactly as Narcissa had described Draco; an illness.

Hermione felt like she had to do something, had to somehow change the possible outcome. But she couldn't for the life of her think of what. And, suggested a traitorous voice in her head, what if it was irreversible? What if she was powerless over the feeling?

Hermione sat forward in her chair as best she could, staring at Narcissa intently.

"Narcissa, please tell me what to do," she said seriously, "Please. I don't want to do that to my son. I don't want to hate him."

"I've already told you," the older woman replied, "Be mad."

"But I don't understand…"

"You feel angry don't you? You feel frustrated and annoyed with the people around you?"

"Yes, I do."

"But you don't say anything, do you? You just keep quiet."

"That's right."

"Well, don't be quiet anymore. Hormones or not, Hermione, those emotions don't come from nowhere. If something Ron does fills you with rage, it isn't fair for him or you to just blame that on hormones. He has a part to play in it as much as you do. So feel your feeling. I'm not saying that it would be right for you to behave immaturely or to let your emotions run wild, but to supress them is not healthy. If you feel sad, cry, even if it's inconvenient for those around you, even if it's in the middle of the street. Just do it. Because if you don't, all those feelings, they'll just burn away inside you, and they'll hurt you. They'll hurt your son. Because it's not the child that's the illness, it's the unexpressed emotion. That's what will infect you if you let it."

* * *

_June 1__st__, 2009._

For just over a week after her conversation with Narcissa, Hermione experienced a curious form of peace and acceptance. Her depression did not evaporate entirely, but it was certainly less poignant than it had been. She found it easier to laugh and smile, easier to be honest.

And she waited and watched for those toxic feelings of sadness or anger to rise within her again, the ones that she'd been repressing before, but they did not. She was determined to be different if they appeared again, was determined to express them. She knew that they hadn't gone away just because she'd had some time to feel peaceful.

But it was hard not to sink into a false sense of security. Her sleeping patterns had evened out slightly, she was eating a little better and even found time and motivation to do things other than sit in her study and listen to music. She read books again, worked a little and tried to contribute to the running of the house as best she could. Her motivation seemed to have returned.

One rainy afternoon while Ron was at work and Rose was having a play date with James, Hermione found herself seized with the desire to move her and Ron's bedroom around, she needed a change and she wanted the bed facing the giant window that spanned the western side of the room rather than running parallel to it so that she could lie there and watch the sun set over the mountains.

And so, wand in hand, Hermione happily began the process, cleaning off the surfaces of various pieces of furniture, levitating them out onto the landing outside the bedroom and casting cleaning charms on the dusty sections of floor that had once been hidden. It felt liberating to cleanse her environment like that. Like she was really closing a door on the darkness that had been following her the last months. Her record player sat on a clear patch of floor, making the walls vibrate with its volume. That afternoon, she'd decided against her usual lilting classical music and had replaced it with Led Zeppelin just because she could.

After Hermione had been working steadily for almost an hour and the sun was beginning to set behind the clouds making the room dully grey, she came to sit on Ron's side of the bed. His nightstand was crammed with books on quidditch and defensive spells which needed to be cleared before she could move the table.

Hermione began to levitate the books back onto the bookshelf where they belonged and as the pile thinned, she found something hidden underneath it that made her heart stop for just a second.

The cup. That coffee cup. It was still there over a month later.

Hermione could do nothing but stare at it blankly, at the black spots of mould growing on the surface of the congealed milk as the sharp, acrid smell of it burnt in her nostrils.

She must have sat there for near twenty minutes, long after the record had scratched to a halt, the room growing darker and darker around her. Eventually, for some unknowable reason, tears began to well in her eyes and spill down her cheeks. She didn't sob or sniff or wail, she simply sat in still silence as the tears flowed, staring down at that mug, transfixed.

It was all coming back.

The sound of the front door banging open downstairs didn't even make her jump. Ron's call of greeting couldn't inspire her to respond.

It was only some minutes later, when he finally stamped up the stairs that Hermione's eyes finally broke contact with the cup.

"Woah! What's this then?" asked her husband happily, having difficulty squeezing between the pieces of furniture scattered on the landing to enter the bedroom.

"I'm moving the room around," said Hermione quietly.

"I hope you're not doing anything to hurt yourself love. Blimey, it's a bit dark in here!" he flicked his wand first at the lamps on the walls, then at the dead fire in the grate which roared to life and Hermione found herself bathed in golden light.

"How was your day?" she asked distantly.

"Oh you know, same old, same old. Bit of trouble with some of the prisoners in Azkaban but that's nothing unusual really. Bloody hell, I'm buggered though. Fancy take away tonight?"

He moved over to her and gave her a quick peck on the forehead before slumping down onto the bed next to her and kicking off his boots.

When Hermione made no reply, he gave her a quizzical look. "You alright babe?"

"Yes… I…" her words were faltering, like she'd somehow forgotten how to speak, "I just…"

He sat up, looking concerned, and set one hand on her back and the other one her knee. "What? What is it Hermione?"

She took a deep, calming breath. "Ron, what is that?"

Her hand shot out to point at the mug, sitting alone on his otherwise bare nightstand. He craned his neck a little to get a look at what she was gesturing to and laughed.

"It's a cup of coffee. Well, it _used _to be… fuck it's gone a bit foul! Why do you ask?" his tone was light, joking, and she knew he didn't understand at all.

"That's been there for over a month," she pointed out.

"So?" he asked flippantly, getting up to move over to the fire.

"So you left a cup of coffee sitting on the nightstand for over a month," she tried to explain to him.

He gave a patronising little laugh, "And that's made you angry has it? No need to over react, Hermione, it's easily fixed."

Ron pulled his wand from his jeans pocket and flicked it at the mug which vanished.

Hermione felt something tearing at the inside of her chest and knew it was rage. But it wasn't healthy. It was black and foul and cancerous. It was not the sort of emotion that Narcissa had been speaking about. It was dangerous. And she found she could hold it in. There was nothing to stop it surging up through her body, opening wounds along the way. She got slowly to her feet.

"That's it? That's your solution? To just vanish it? You don't see anything wrong with that?"

He rolled his eyes, "No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"Why not take it downstairs Ron, why not wash it up, why not fucking do something _real_ about it?"

"Look, it's just a cup of coffee, Hermione! Calm down! I don't understand why you're making such a big deal about this!" he scoffed, throwing his hands in the air.

"Well why don't you ASK ME?!" she yelled, terrified by the feeling of relief she was getting that she was finally, _finally_, losing her temper, after so much time in silence. It felt so good to just _yell_. And that scared her. It scared her how ready she was to be cruel.

"What? Like that makes a difference. You're going to throw a fucking tantrum either way, whether I ask or not, so what's the point?!"

"The _point_?!" she demanded, outraged, "Maybe the point should be that you care about me? That you _want _to know what's upsetting me?"

"And why would I want to?! Why would _anyone _want to?! You act like such an acidic bitch all the fucking time, Hermione, it's no wonder no one's going to ask you what your problem is anymore!"

"How _dare_ you!" Hermione screamed before pointing at her stomach, "This is your fucking son, Ron! And it's _him _doing this to me! Him and you! I don't get this crazy all on my own!"

"Oh so it's my fault now!"

"No, it's not just your fault, but you play a part! You can't just blame me! You _always _blame me! Can't you take responsibility for once?! Why do I always have to be your scapegoat, Ron?!"

"_My _scapegoat?! You're the one losing your fucking mind over a cup of coffee!"

"SEE?! That's what I mean!" she yelled furiously before taking a long, deep breath, her voice quieting again, "Can't you just, for one second, please see that you might have done something to hurt me? Please? Just say something that doesn't make me the insane one, that doesn't put all the blame on my shoulders…"

He didn't really how desperately she needed to be told she wasn't insane. Because her mind was falling away from her. Her control was leaking out. She could feel it.

He looked at her for a long moment, shoulders rising and falling with his breath. "I can't think of anything," he said indifferently.

Hermione felt the tears in her eyes again and though she willed them back, they wouldn't be pushed away. They fell down her face and defiantly, she did not wipe them away. She wanted him to see them, the proof that he'd hurt her. Maybe, just maybe he would be able to say it then, that he'd done something wrong.

But Ron didn't seem to be able to look at her. His gaze fell to the floor, flicked out the window, at the empty air above her head, but never into her eyes.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and made towards the door. "I'm going to Harry's. I can't do this right now."

Hermione rushed to put herself between him and the door, anger filling her heart again.

"Is that it? You're just going to leave?" she demanded.

"Yeah. I am. Now get out of the way," he growled.

"No! I won't! I won't let you do this to me again!"

He stopped in his tracks and suddenly his face was inches from hers.

"What do you mean _again_?" he growled.

Hermione cringed slightly. "You know what I mean!"

"SAY IT THEN!" he bellowed, right in her face, so loudly her ears rang.

The violence of it shocked her right into that frantic, fearful rage, pushed her past the point of no return, and she pushed roughly at his chest so that he stumbled backwards.

"EVERY TIME IT GETS TOO HARD YOU LEAVE ME!" she screamed, "YOU ALWAYS LEAVE ME!"

"And how many times do you want me to apologise for that!" he bellowed back, regaining his footing, "How much do you want me to fucking torture myself!"

His foot lashed out and kicked at the wall beside him as he yelled at her, leaving a boot sized hole.

"That's just it Ron!" she screeched, "How many fucking times do you have to apologise! Why don't you just not do it in the first place! Always begging for forgiveness, never asking for permission! And you wonder why it still hurts me! Because it does! It's like a knife in my fucking chest!"

"Well I can't fucking help that, can I?!"

"YOU LEFT ME IN A WARZONE! YOU LEFT ME KNOWING THAT I MIGHT FUCKING DIE! AND I NEARLY DID! YOUR BEST FUCKING FRIEND AND THE WOMAN YOU CLAIM TO LOVE! YOU LEFT BOTH OF US OUT IN THE COLD!" she screamed, the tears cascading down her face with every word.

Ron's cheeks were pale and his eyes hollow but his teeth were bared in rage, ready to lash back at her but she wouldn't allow him the opportunity.

"And then you did it again a year later! You left me in the mess of that fucking war, all on my own! Just because it was too hard! I don't fucking care that you came back and said sorry because your words mean NOTHING! No matter how many times you say sorry, you'll always leave me again! Because you know I'll always let you come back!"

Now that she'd started, Hermione didn't know that she could stop. Weeks and weeks of pain and fear and anger were pushing up through her chest, cascading from her mouth in one long violent stream. It wasn't about the coffee cup. It had never been about that. It was about him and how disappointed in him she was.

"And now you'll leave again, just like you have every single fucking day for the last two months. You never once asked me what was wrong. You never once pushed me to talk to you. You just let it go, you believed everyone else's bullshit about hormones and baby brain even though you could see with your own fucking eyes how fucked I was! And I was, Ron, I _am_! I am _terrified_! You want to know why? Because I hate my own son! I've spent the last two months wishing, praying that my life would just end! That his life would end! MY OWN SON!"

Hermione was sobbing now, uncontrollably, violently. And Ron was looking at her like he found her repulsive.

"And you," she said, her voice finally lowering into a grief stricken whisper, "You think you can stand there and tell me I'm over reacting. When I wish I was dead."

Her last words hung in the air between them. His fists were clenched by his sides so tightly that the skin of his knuckles was pearly white. Still, he couldn't look at her when all she could do was stare into his face in desperation, wishing that he'd just say something to sooth her, to make it all better.

But he didn't.

He moved towards her. He moved past her, towards the bedroom door.

"No!" she cried desperately, the anger gone, her pride gone, "No, Ron, _please_!"

She rushed to stand in front of him again, her hands struggling to find purchase on his shirt. He stared over her head, fury contorting his features, making him ugly. She tried to use her body weight to stop him leaving. She couldn't handle him leaving.

When he stopped suddenly, she almost thought it had worked, but then his hands landed on her ribcage, fingertips digging painfully into her skin. His picked her up, moved her to the left, out of his way, and put her down again. Just like that.

And then she was alone in the room.

For the briefest of seconds, Hermione simply stared at the open door, listening to his heavy footsteps storming down the stairs. Then, she rushed towards the door, determined to follow him, even if she had to beg for forgiveness, even if she had to admit that it was all her and that he was completely without fault, ready to say anything just to get him to stay. But the way was blocked by all the furniture she'd left on the landing. Ron could fit through, but she couldn't with her belly.

She wheeled on the spot, searching for her wand, one ear cocked, waiting for the slam of their front door. Her wand was nowhere to be seen.

That's when the contraction hit her and completely broke her world.

Hermione doubled over in pain, her knees giving out underneath her and cracking excruciatingly on the hard wood floor.

The agony was familiar. It was, without a doubt, a contraction. But that contraction was seven weeks early. Panic gripped her, running catastrophic electricity through her veins.

"RON!" she screamed, "RON! PLEASE! COME BACK! IT'S-"

Her words were cut off in a rabid shriek as the pain peaked.

And she heard the front door slam.

Her heart broke. It broke because she knew he would have heard her. And he left anyway.

Hermione scrambled around on the floor desperately for her wand. She couldn't get out of the room. She probably wouldn't even be able to make it down the stairs now, even if she _could_ move the furniture. There was, of course, a fireplace, but no floo powder. And she knew she would not be able to apparate without causing damage to herself or the baby.

So unless Hermione wanted to give birth to her son on her own, alone on her bedroom floor, she had to find her wand.

It took fifteen agonising minutes for her to locate it, tucked behind a book under the bed where it must have rolled. By the time her fingers closed around it and she gave a manic sob of the most potent relief, the sweat was pouring from her body and her head was spinning. She was having difficulty breathing and swallowing.

And in that moment, she prayed that her wishes had not been granted. She didn't want to die. She didn't want her son to die.

And yet, she'd never felt closer to death. She felt sure that if she did not find help soon, death was coming to take her and her baby boy whom, she realised then with so much force it was like a punch to her stomach, she loved with so much of her heart that it seemed impossible that there was any more to give.

Hermione concentrated on that love that was blossoming in her chest and cascading all through her body along with the pain and the oncoming blackness, and held up her wand.

"Expecto…" she gasped, her mouth dry, her tongue swollen, "Expecto…"

Her wand arm dropped and she cried. It was too hard. The energy was flying from her body.

_My son, _she thought desperately, _MY SON._

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The otter burst from her wand tip and frolicked around her body, crumpled on the floor of her bedroom.

"H-help…" she rasped, sobbing, "Help. Pl-please."

The otter disappeared in a burst of silvery flames. She didn't know where it had gone or whom it would seek out, she'd had no one in mind with her broken cry for assistance. She just trusted that her little otter would find someone before it was too late.

Hermione curled up into herself as another wave of pain swept through her. She squeezed her eyes shut against it, focussing her mind on anything that would hold her in consciousness. When she opened them again, she looked down to see blood, dark red and filling the room with its metallic scent, coating her bare thighs.

The contraction had lasted minutes, and still no one had come. She was still alone, staring into the flames leaping in the grate in front of her, trying not to think of the blood because she knew what the blood would mean.

Perhaps she really was going to die.

With that thought, Hermione's sobbing finally stopped and her face turned blank.

Death.

Harry and Ron talked so much of the war, of all their near death experiences, almost as if talking about it robbed it of its meaning. That's how they dealt with it, she supposed. And they had the right to deal with it however they wanted. They were the heroes after all.

But was this how a war hero died? Alone, in child birth, in an empty house? A house that had so often held everyone she loved? She'd built her life into this. Everything she'd ever done, every word she'd ever said, every galleon she'd earned, every book she'd ever read, was all going to culminate right here. This was the finale. Her whole sum of parts, everything that made her Hermione Granger, brains of the golden trio, brightest witches of her age, most respected lawyer in the country, was about to end right here on the bedroom floor.

Hermione closed her eyes.

She was ready for it.

But in the infinitely silent moment, right when she was closer to oblivion than she'd ever been, a crack rent the air and the sound of pounding footfalls reverberated through the floorboards into her head.

"Oh my… what is she…?" said a woman's voice, full of grief and fear.

"HELP ME!" cried a man and suddenly, there were cool hands on Hermione's cheek.

Hermione opened her eyes.

Of course it was him. It was always him.

"Draco…" she whispered.

Behind him stood Narcissa, her face lined and cracked in terror.

"Go down stairs, mother, get the floo powder. We have to get her to St Mungos," said Draco, taking full control, just as she knew he would.

Narcissa disappeared.

Draco's wand was already flying up and down her body and she felt the tightness in her throat begin to ease, felt the pain in her abdomen and in her bones dulling.

"Now," he said lowly, trying to keep his horror and fear out of his voice, "You're not going to close your eyes again, are you?"

"Why not?" she said somewhat sleepily.

"Because I don't want you to die," he said in a cracked voice, eyes flicking between her own and his wand as it continued its course all over her body.

"But what's the point?" she sobbed, the tears coming again, "He's already dead."

"He's not," Draco growled.

"He is. The blood, Draco. Look at the blood…"

"We're wizards Hermione. It takes a lot more than this to kill us. I promise. Look, here," he took her hand gently and put his wand, which was pointed at her stomach, in her palm. She immediately felt a constant, throbbing beat travelling into her skin.

"That's a heartbeat," said Draco, "He's not dead."

Hermione let out a wail as he took his wand back. She grasped his hand.

"Help me, Draco! Please!"

"I will," he said intensely, "Don't worry, I'm not leaving you."

Narcissa re-appeared behind him and threw what looked like the entire pot of floo powder into the crackling flames in the grate. They burst into a brilliant green glow and Draco hoisted Hermione into his arms. She could already see flecks of her own blood speckled on his shirt.

He walked into the flames with her on his chest.

* * *

_June 4__th__, 2009._

Ron looked wretched. He looked more than wretched, he looked like a man on fire.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, not attempting to brush away the wetness on his cheeks.

"I know," Hermione responded blankly, staring down at Hugo, suckling at her breast. He was so tiny, looked so much more fragile and breakable than Rose had. But he was alive and, thanks to the healers and thanks to Draco's quick thinking the night he'd found her, Hugo was healthy.

For the millionth time in the last three days, Hermione thanked god she was a witch because she knew that muggle medicine would not have saved him. Without magic, her little boy would have died along with his mother.

"Hermione, please…" begged Ron.

She looked over at him, seated beside her hospital bed.

This should have been a happy moment. The tears on her husband's face should have been tears of joy. It saddened her in a place deep in her heart that Hugo had been brought into the world amidst so much brokenness.

She couldn't have him brought up like that. After everything that little boy had been through, both inside her womb and out, he deserved so much better.

"It's ok, Ron," said Hermione, lying her hand palm up on the bed for her to take, "It wasn't your fault."

"It was…" he said thickly.

"It wasn't. It was mine. I shouldn't have let myself get so out of control. I'm sorry."

Ron put his face down on the bed, both of his hands encircling hers, and wept. "How can you do that?" he sobbed, "How can you be the one saying sorry? I left you, Hermione. And you almost died. If it wasn't for… for… why is it that other men are always the ones to save you when I leave?"

Hermione had no answer for that.

After a moment, Ron lifted his face a wiped his eyes, a look of determination sweeping over his features. "I'll be better from now on. I promise. I'll be better. We'll… we'll fix this."

"How?" she asked, because she genuinely wanted to know. Because she needed them to fix it, for Hugo and Rose. Their children needed them to be better. She knew she could leave Ron, knew that that was a possibility, but she didn't want to put herself through that, didn't want Rose and Hugo to spend the first years of their lives with absent parents too caught up in dealing with a divorce.

"There's a mind healer I've heard about," said Ron and Hermione quietly bristled at the idea that he thought she needed yet another councillor. But his next sentence surprised her.

"He works with couples. We could go, you and me. We could get help."

Hermione smiled slightly and nodded. "I think that's a great idea, Ron."

"And… and you don't have to give up your study. You've still got a few days left in the hospital so I'll have the extension put in and set up before you two come home. Hugo can have the new room."

Her smile grew. He had no idea how much that meant to her.

"Thank you, Ron."

She was glad he'd put thought into it, glad that he was taking charge. Because, after what had happened, there was healing that needed to take place. Without a doubt.

For him, she'd keep the events of that night quiet. Draco and Narcissa knew the truth of it but she trusted them never to share it. Harry knew nothing other than the fact that she and Ron had had a fight and she'd gone into an early labour soon after. He didn't know that she'd begged and pleaded, he didn't know that Ron had left the house as it rang with his wife's screams.

And it needed to stay that way, needed to keep quiet. Because she was invested in her husband's desire to be better and she knew the last thing he needed was the judgement of their friends and family.

They had been through worse, or that's what she told herself, and they'd come out the other side better people. Now, it was more important than ever that that happened. Because this time the happiness of her children was at stake. And Hermione would do anything for them.

Anything.

* * *

A/N - So this chapter was really hard to write. I'm not going to go into why but it would be wonderful to get lots of warm reviews from you beautiful people!

xx

Desdemona


	10. The Year They Marked Their Tenth

10.

THE YEAR THEY MARKED THEIR TENTH

_September 4__th__, 2010._

Hermione breathed in the air of the city, the smog and the asphalt, the intermingled scents of coffee and fried food and gourmet cuisine all combining into what was quintessentially London.

The smoke from her cigarette curled through the air in front of her as she reclined at the table of her favourite café. It was her one indulgence, that cigarette. She rarely bothered with the habit anymore but every now and then, when she felt most confidant, most powerful, she couldn't help missing the feeling of a smoke rolling between her fingers and she'd give in to that little reward for all her hard work.

Hermione watched the pedestrians that passed the café, creating stories for them in her mind as she did. After a few moments, she saw a familiar face strutting through the crowd towards her table. But when he caught sight of her, the strutting stopped and turned into a somewhat fearful shamble.

Hermione smirked.

"Cormac," she greeted him when he was close, getting up to shake his large hand.

"Hermione," he grunted in response.

She resumed her seat and gestured for him to join her. He did.

"So," she said, still smirking as she leant forward on the table, cigarette still in hand, "It's not often that I get to share coffee with the Ministry's most eligible bachelor…"

Cormac seemed to relax a little at her outwardly flirtatious behaviour and said, "Well I thought you deserved a treat."

Hermione giggled, thinking that he was a fool for being appeased by her overly friendly behaviour. If he knew her well enough, he'd know that if anything he should be _more _frightened. "Well now, I wouldn't go quite so far as to call it a treat but nonetheless, here we are. There must be a reason for your inviting me here," she grinned in a somewhat threatening manner, "I suggest you cut to the chase and tell me the bad news."

"I don't know what you mean," said Cormac and she was satisfied to see a slight sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Well," she sighed, exhaling a thin stream of smoke and stubbing out her butt in the ashtray sitting in front of her, "It's not hard to put two and two together, is it? Given that usually, we have our little meetings either in my office or via floo, where I am at complete liberty to lose my temper if I find your efforts disappointing, I can only assume that you would wish to avoid such a scenario. Here in the open, I am constrained by propriety to remain calm no matter how bad the news you have for me may be."

Cormac shook his head, grimacing, "You're a smart woman, Hermione."

"I'm a good lawyer, Cormac."

He ran a hand through his hair nervously and stared adamantly at the table. "Ok. Fine, I'll get to the point then. But you're not going to like it."

Hermione rolled her eyes slightly. "Oh, what a transformation…"

"Look. I can confirm that there will be some underlying trouble at the reunion, alright? Your hunch was well and truly on the money."

"I know. When are my hunches ever _not_ on the money? However, I fear I can sense a 'but' coming on…"

Cormac's grimace widened slightly and he nodded, "But I don't know what will be happening or who it might involve."

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Do you have any idea who might be targeted?"

"No."

"You have no theories? No suggestions?" she huffed frustratedly.

"I'm afraid not."

Hermione grasped her bag from beside her chair and tossed a few pounds down onto the table as she stood.

"Very well then," she said before she moved around the table and leant down closer to his face, one hand on the back of his chair and the other on the table in front of him. "But I _would _be afraid if I were you, Cormac. If I find out that you are withholding information from me, and do not for a second think that I would believe you above that, know that I will bring the full force of the law down on your shoulders with so much weight it will crush your bones to dust. Understood?"

He swallowed fearfully and nodded.

Hermione strode away without a backward glance.

* * *

Later that evening, well and truly drained by her day in the court room, Hermione strode up the garden path of her and Ron's picturesque home, far later than she might have wished, drawing her scarf tighter about her neck to ward off the cold and biting Autumn wind.

The moment she passed through the front door into the warmth of her home, a jubilant voice echoed down the hall, accompanied by the sound of pattering footsteps.

"Mummy, mummy, mummy!" cried Rose, her short, strawberry blonde ringlets bouncing around her face as she ran.

"Hello lovely," Hermione responded, beaming and sweeping the three year old up into her arms.

"Daddy got a book," Rose informed her mother enthusiastically as Hermione carried her down the hall towards the stairs that led down to the kitchen.

"Did he now?" asked Hermione, somewhat shocked, "What kind of book?"

"One with pictures."

"For you?"

"And Hugo too!"

Hermione gave a bemused laugh, "Well that's… Very good."

"I still want you to read Jane though," Rose reassured her.

Her mother laughed, "Of course I will."

Rose was, of course, speaking of Pride and Prejudice, which Hermione read aloud to her every night. The name had proven far too difficult for the three year old to grasp and so Rose had simply come to know it as 'Jane' after the author.

The two of them descended into the kitchen where they found Ron standing over the stove, swapping between stirring the contents of a large pot and cooing softly to Hugo who was bouncing and gurgling happily in a magically suspended elastic swing beside him. Ron turned at their entrance, smiling.

"Look matey, mum's home!" he said to Hugo before moving around the table to kiss Hermione on the lips and take Rose out of her arms.

"Do you need a hand?" asked Hermione as he went back to the pot on the stove with Rose on his hip to give her the traditional taste.

He shook his head and waved her off, "Nah, babe, I got this."

Hermione laughed, "I'm sure you do."

Ron's cooking skills had mysteriously improved over the last few months and she was grateful for it. An Auror's schedule was far tighter than that of a lawyer's, meaning Ron was almost always home by four o'clock every afternoon whereas Hermione could stumble through the door any time between lunchtime and midnight depending on the amount of work she had. It had become apparent, as the kids got older, that Ron's feeble efforts to branch out from stir fry, the only dish he'd ever really mastered, needed to be worked on.

Hermione's schedule had picked up noticeably since Hugo had been born. She'd fallen into somewhat of a lull professionally after Rose's birth, and had stayed there in the years between her two children, only taking on a case here and there, taking somewhat of a backseat regarding the ways the country was governed and the laws that were passed. Her influence that had been carefully honed and tried in those first few years in Dawn Fortescue's office had dwindled significantly until she'd thrown herself back into her job with renewed vigour and passion.

Ron had taken over as primary carer of both their children. He was the one that dropped them off at their grandparents every morning and picked them up every night, the one that dressed them and bathed them and fed them. Hermione sort of liked it that way because it meant she got to be the fun parent.

Ginny, who had given up her position on the Holyhead Harpies with her and Harry's third child on the way, and had taken a cushy job at the Daily Prophet writing for the sports section, had, on innumerable occasions, attempted to guilt Hermione on her work load, citing that she didn't spend enough time with her children and it was unfair for them to grow up 'without a mother'. Hermione disagreed. She found her situation quite favourable. It wasn't like she was never around, even if she did have the occasional late night, she would never give up a second of her weekends to anyone but Rose and Hugo. And they seemed fine, Ron seemed fine. Their family was fine. They'd all fallen into an easy, comfortable routine which worked well for all of them.

Surprisingly, given all that had taken place the previous year, Hermione was genuinely happy. She found in herself a sort of hardness and resilience that hadn't been around for a long, long time.

She thought of all this as she watched Ron and Rose giggling over by the stove as Rose tried to tell her father exactly what was wrong with his stew in her somewhat limited vocabulary. Hermione laughed aloud at her husband struggling to understand his daughter's instructions.

"Salt?" he asked, chuckling, "You think it needs salt?"

"Nooo!" whined Rose, clearly frustrated by how dense he was being, "Yellow! Yellow!"

"Yellow?! Yellow what?!"

Rose grimaced fiercely as she held her tiny hand up in front of her father's face and opened and closed her fist over and over again. He didn't seemed to understand the gesture any better than any of her other clues and she pouted in exasperation.

"Well what does it taste like then?" asked Ron, his expression a cross between amusement and panic.

"Tastes like…" Rose thought for a moment before she scrunched up her face and smacked her lips.

Hermione giggled, finally intervening when Ron continued to look confused, "Do you mean sour, Rosie? It tastes sour?"

"Yeah!" exclaimed Rose, giving her mother a grateful grin.

"Yellow and sour…" said Ron, "Aha! You mean a lemon! You think it needs lemon!"

"Yeah!" cried his daughter, clapping her hands joyfully.

He set her down on the ground as he went about obtaining a lemon and she waddled over to her brother and began chattering at him about the intricacies of cooking. Hugo stared up at her wide eyed and adoring as he listened.

Hermione moved around the table and sat down not far from where Ron was standing.

"How was work?" he asked her, a hint of seriousness weaving through his tone. The question was more than a polite enquiry.

Hermione matched his tone, "Disappointing. But I didn't come away with nothing at all. We'll talk about it once the kids are in bed."

Ron looked tense and nodded. She knew that he and the rest of his Auror colleagues had been somewhat relying on the information she was supposed to acquire that day regarding the Hogwarts ten year reunion. Since she'd re-established herself in her position, she'd become almost indispensable to them, providing them with information that they had no way of obtaining. The Aurors were the enemies of criminals and dark wizards alike, no member of the shadier side of the wizarding world was interested in sharing any sensitive information with them. But Hermione, as a lawyer, was in a far better position because she could be either enemy or friend depending on how much money she was offered. Of course, in her own sly way, she always made sure the most vicious criminals got exactly what they deserved, but she did it in a way that made it seem, to the outside world, as if she'd gotten the best deal she could for her clients.

So she had access to the sort of information the Aurors didn't because all the crooks wanted her on their side. And that didn't just mean dark wizards, it meant corrupt ministry officials too. Like Cormac. Over the years, he'd grown to fear and loath Hermione, as much as he tried to pretend otherwise, but she had so much on him that he had little choice but to give her all the information she desired.

It was a very carefully constructed hierarchy, with Hermione at the top. She'd even let rumours fly, and even started a few herself, about her and Ron's marriage being full of deceit and infidelity just so that the Cormac's of the world weren't so worried about her taking all her new found intelligence back to her Auror husband.

She'd already been instrumental, even in the ten months that had passed since she'd started back at work properly, to bringing down quite a few dangerous dark wizards across the country. It made her feel powerful. It made her feel valuable. And secretly, she loved that.

* * *

Later that night, after Rose and Hugo were safely tucked up in bed, Hermione and Ron shared tea in her study and talked about the events of the day.

"So there's no clue as to who's behind this?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Not so far as I know. But it's difficult to tell, really. I mean the reunion is going to be big, far bigger than Hogwarts would usually deal with. We have more suspects than we can really keep track of."

Because of the confusion surrounding the years of the war, Headmistress McGonagall had chosen to simply meld three class years into one for that particular reunion and call it the tenth, meaning that Harry, Ron and Hermione's year would be there as well as the year above them and the year below, Ginny and Luna's year. It was all very confusing, the upside being that all of them got to celebrate their graduation together, the downside being that what with three sets of graduating classes and their partners, it was harder to regulate.

"Trust me," said Ron, "We'll keep track of them. I'll have McGonagall owl me the guest list."

"That won't cover everyone though… I mean, we know the invitations are sent out to specific students with an optional plus one. We can't know who those plus ones might be, can we?"

"Security will be tight on the night."

"Good. That's good. Frankly I can't really see how anyone in their right minds could possibly even contemplate mounting an attack on the reunion. We've got a nice little crowd of Aurors attending, plus about ninety percent of us are war veterans. It just seems a little silly if you ask me. A whole room occupied by people either trained in defensive magic or with vast field experience in it."

"I know… it seems pretty stupid. So I reckon that rules out any higher up dark wizard activity. If anything, I'd say we're dealing with standard heavies. Crabbe and Goyle types."

"I think you're probably right."

"I just wish we could have gotten this information sooner. I could have gotten McGonagall to tighten the invitations a little bit. But with the reunion only four day away, there's not much we can do really except the standard stuff. Security screening, Aurors on duty, foe glass… I don't know."

Ron ran an anxious hand through his hair and Hermione laid a hand on his arm, her face softening out of the harsh line of strategy into a loving smile.

"It'll be ok, babe. I think we'd have to be attacked by a full blown army for it to do any real damaged. We're too powerful as a group."

He nodded and leant forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

"You're right."

Hand in hand and yawning widely, Hermione and Ron mounted the stairs up to their bedroom, putting the business of the reunion out of their minds.

* * *

_September 8__th__, 2010._

There was definitely an odd feeling in the air. Hermione couldn't keep still, her eyes darting left and right all over the great hall, noting every guest that entered or exited the party. She and Ron had only been there for half an hour and though he seemed relaxed enough, she was on edge.

The hall was decorated lavishly and extravagantly, not unlike the Yule Ball in her fourth year. Most of the people present were people she knew, even if only distantly, recognising them because she'd passed them in the corridors so often in her Hogwarts days. It was the people she didn't recognise that had her nervous and there were more than a few of them.

As Hermione's eyes swept the room for the fiftieth time, she noticed one such person bent over the deserts table a few metres away. She grasped Harry's arm, who was standing beside her and hissed, "Harry, see that brunette witch over there? The one in the ridiculous green robes? Who is that?"

Harry rolled his eyes good naturedly and prized her fingers off his arm. "That's Seamus Finnegan's wife Rhonda, Hermione, you need to calm down."

"How can I? How can _you _be so calm?"

"Because I'm an Auror. This is what we do. You're just not used to this, that's all."

"Too right."

"Look, if someone's going to make trouble here, they'll show themselves soon enough. Until then, relax. Being jumpy isn't going to serve any purpose."

"Well I disagree. It's going to mean I'll be ready the moment something happens."

Harry chuckled and rubbed her back reassuringly. "What can happen? Wands are being confiscated at the door so they can't use magic. The worst that can happen is a very messy food fight."

Hermione scowled. She was well aware that wands had been confiscated off everyone bar the qualified Aurors among them the moment they set foot into the castle. But that didn't stop her worrying. If anything, it worsened her anxiety. Their attackers may have been unarmed but so was she.

"What's wrong with you?" asked a voice from her other side and Hermione turned to find Blaise grinning down at her.

"Nothing," she grumbled sourly.

He pushed against her affectionately. "Chill out, Hermione. We're safe… Anyway, this is supposed to be a party! Time to reminisce about our school days! Our wayward, youthful shenanigans!"

She scowled at him but he merely met her look with a cheeky grin.

"I've a story for you, speaking of shenanigans, would you like to hear it? It's juicy…"

A reluctant smile crept up her face and she said, "Alright, go on then."

"It pertains to a mutual friend of ours, ah! Here she is!"

Blaise seemed to scoop Isobel out of thin air beside him. The younger witch looked momentarily bemused.

"I was just about to tell Hermione here the story of your unfortunate encounter with one of our esteemed housemates, Marcus Flint," said Blaise lightly.

Isobel's expression turned ashen and she whacked Blaise's arm with the back of her hand. "Don't you _dare_!"

"What?" said Hermione, giggling, "Please don't tell me you're talking about that great hulking brute that used to captain the Slytherin quidditch team? And please don't tell me you mean 'encounter' the way you usually mean it, Blaise…"

Blaise looked positively diabolical, grinning as Isobel stared up at him with a mixture of anguish, embarrassment and amusement.

"I am. And I do," Blaise confirmed happily.

Isobel groaned.

"So, in our sixth year, it became general knowledge that young Isobel here was nursing a bit of a school girl crush on our Quidditch captain," he began, revelling in Isobel's apparent dismay.

"Good lord, Isobel, please tell me that isn't true!" exclaimed Ginny, who'd come to join the conversation.

Isobel looked pained but didn't answer.

Blaise continued ruthlessly. "Naturally, she was given a certain amount of flack about said crush until, by design or by chance, this information was made known to Marcus himself. But rather than brutally casting aside our young Isobel, as we thought he would, the oaf actually deigns to ask her out. And by 'out' of course I mean he asked her to rendezvous with him in a broom cupboard in the middle of the night. She, of course, being in the throes of undying love, agreed and together they formulated a plan to meet at the stroke of midnight in the broom cupboard on the second floor, near the charms classroom. So off they went to their romantic tryst and, one can only assume, they got rather far before they were unceremoniously discovered by none other than Peeves himself."

By this time Hermione was already cackling along with Ginny, Harry, Ron and Padma and Eli who'd also joined in the conversation.

"Naturally they abandoned their mission to procreate and careened back towards the Slytherin dormitories. Now I could not tell you what state our young friend was in when she returned to the common room, for she made it up to her dormitory without incident. And it was only once she had arrived there that she realised she was all alone. Marcus, it seemed, was not following her. It wasn't until the next morning that our late potions master, along with half of Slytherin, found him fully asleep and completely naked, with his foot stuck in the vanishing step on the stair way that led down to the dungeons."

Hermione clutched at her stomach and doubled over in laughter.

"How did the rest of the school not find out about this?!" demanded Ron between gasps as he tried to catch his breath.

"We're Slytherins," said Draco, appearing at Harry's elbow grinning, "We're house proud. But, if you're interested to know, that's how Isobel came by her reputation as a bit of a man eater. There were long debates over whether it was an accident or she'd put him there herself."

"Which I certainly didn't!" exclaimed Isobel indignantly.

"For some reason, I don't believe you," said Blaise pensively, smiling.

"What about you three?" asked Eli, gesturing at Hermione, Harry and Ron, "I bet you guys have a bit of dirt on each other…"

Hermione looked sheepish, Harry grimaced and Ron chuckled smugly.

"Have you met me, mate?" he said, "No one's got a bad word to say about Ron Weasley…"

The collected group laughed at the irony of this statement before Hermione said, with a raised eyebrow, "Well there _was_ that thing suctioned onto your face for most of sixth year…"

"Hey!" Harry guffawed, "That _thing_ has a name!"

"Oh yeah! I remember now! Lav Lav, wasn't it?" giggled Hermione impishly.

Ron chuckled, "You can't talk with all your notoriously impressive boyfriends!"

"Too right!" said Harry, "Krum first, then Maclagan… Anyone else we've missed?"

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes good naturedly.

"Don't forget me," said Draco, grinning, "The bad boy Death Eater."

"You have got quite a roster there, darling," Isobel giggled, "We should compare notes…"

"Hey, there'll be no note sharing…" Ron growled in mock sternness.

"It's alright love," said Hermione reassuringly, looping her arm through his, "You're notorious and impressive enough for me, don't worry."

"Yeah, you like the quiet life now, don't you Hermione?" asked Harry in amusement.

Ron chuckled before pecking Hermione on the cheek and saying, "As amazingly entertaining as this conversation is, I'm off to the loo."

"I'll come with," said Blaise before the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

The light hearted and jovial conversation had relaxed Hermione. She was still scanning the crowd a little but her fever and anxiety had lessened so that she was giving the room more of a lazy perusal that anything else.

The group around her kept on talking but she was not listening. She didn't feel the need to listen, she was just comfortable with their voices and their laughter all around her. It seemed to her, in that moment, that the fact that they were all there still was something to be marvelled at. That they could pay each other out and make fun but there was nothing they could say to each other anymore that could do any real harm. Ten years it had been since the tovarasi had formed, and they'd never strayed from her side. They remained involved in her life and each other's lives without pause or incident. It was more than she could have wished for herself.

It didn't matter what she'd achieved in her life, didn't matter that she was a nationally respected and feared lawyer or that she was a hero of one of the biggest and most devastating wars in wizarding history. Her greatest achievement would always be all of them. The tovarasi. After all they'd been through as a group, all the pain they'd experienced together and supported each other through, it was a blessing and a miracle that they all still loved each other, that there were no more poisonous resentments, only respect and friendship and laughter.

After some time, as members of the group came and went, Hermione spotted a familiar face up at the staff table. Without really thinking, she turned to Harry beside her and said, "I'll be back in a moment."

Harry nodded and smiled and Hermione broke away from the group. She walked only a few steps before she turned around again.

"Did you see where Ron got to?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "Went to the loo. He must have gotten caught up in conversation on his way back."

"Ok, well if you see him, let him know I'm up at the staff table."

"Will do," Harry told her.

Hermione turned again and wound her way through the crowd to the end of the hall.

"Hello Teodora," she said with real warmth once she reached the staff table.

Her old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher beamed and stood to envelop Hermione in an affectionate, incense scented hug.

"My old friend," said the older witch, "It's been too long."

Hermione took a seat beside Teodora and smiled, "You're telling me. It's genuinely inconceivable that it's been ten years since I walked these corridors every day."

Teodora sighed happily, "I share your disbelief, Hermione. I do not feel any older and yet I look at you and see a woman, not a little girl and I am reminded of all that time that has passed."

"How have your classes been going?"

"I am loving every minute of it. The joy that came to me the first day I taught at this school has not left me. I am _fericit_, I am content. And you? I read about you now, in the Daily Prophet. They say you are… what was it?" the older woman frowned, trying to bring the memory forth in her mind, "_A woman with all the power of a queen and all the ruthlessness of an executioner_."

Hermione chuckled and raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's only half true."

Teodora laughed loudly. "My love, I hope it is _all_ true. Not to another soul would I trust such a personality."

"Thank you, I hope I can live up to that praise," said Hermione wryly.

"You already have, Hermione," Teodora's voice turned serious, "There was a time when I did not think you would pull yourself out of the darkness that engulfed you. I remember… I remember a day that I had come to your flat in Diagon Alley all those years ago. We had a conversation, do you recall it? The force of your pain was of such great strength that you exploded your cup…"

Hermione nodded. She remembered that day well. If it had not been for that feeling, for her panic, she'd have never found out about the wand, about Voldemort's final Horcrux. How different would her life and the lives of her tovarasi be now if not for the conversation with Teodora that had pushed her over the edge?

Teodora continued, not realising the heavy relevance of what she was saying, "You were so sad, Hermione, so broken. I truly feared for you then. I thought I had lost you… But, here you are. Luminous."

Hermione didn't know quite what to say. She was overcome slightly, with a sadness she hadn't let herself feel for a while. There was a tightness in her stomach that she didn't like.

She might look luminous on the outside, her life may have looked luminous, but behind the curtain there was so much dark history that she almost couldn't even bare to acknowledge it.

Hermione Granger did not forget. She forgave and she tried hard to lessen her resentments, but she didn't forget. Her own screams of pain, echoing across the decades of her life, were very real and very potent in her ears.

But that was life. She acknowledged that. There were luminous parts too it, and there were dark parts. Sometimes though, she wished she didn't have to be so aware of the polarity, she wished she didn't have to feel it so separately. She wished she didn't have to look at Ron on some days and see her life partner, the person she poured all her hope and trust into, and on other days see the man that always walked out on her.

As if Teodora could read her mind and the silence that was pervading over them, the older woman took Hermione's hand in her own and squeezed it. Together they stared out at the gathered throng of witches and wizards from the staff table, hand in hand.

That was Hermione's saving grace. She _loved_. Full stop. She loved. Through darkness and light, she always loved.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Hermione's thoughts, her melancholy, was utterly broken as the air was rent with a cacophonous bang that made her ears ring.

She leapt to her feet, along with Teodora, panic tearing through her body as she chastised herself for becoming so complacent. The two of them stared around the suddenly frantic crowd that was scattered before them for the source of the sound. The gathered guests seemed to be of the same mind, craning their necks to see. But panic hadn't set in just yet, only tense confusion. That atmosphere did not last for long. Though Hermione could not see it, the source seemed to have been found. Screaming and yelling filled the space with a chaotic and dissonant uproar of noise. People were running, tripping, falling, some looking around in total confusion, not having grasped what was happening at all, not having realised that this was indeed the attack the Aurors had feared.

Hermione found herself momentarily in awe of how a room could go from one atmosphere, one of calm and happiness to another of fear and panic so suddenly and abruptly.

Her eyes swept over the crowd in search of any familiar face, any of her friends. She caught sight of Isobel's blonde hair whipping about as her head turned this way and that, and saw Ginny beside her. But there was no sign of Ron, Harry, Blaise or Draco anywhere.

Then, the same bang rent the air again and silence, thick and frightening, filled the hall.

Hermione found the source.

A large circle had formed in the middle of the hall as the party guests pressed themselves against the walls in fear, and in the middle of it stood none other than Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle and Pansy Parkinson who had her arm wrapped around the neck of a woman Hermione didn't know. All three of the former Azkaban prisoners looked too thin, pale, gaunt and sick. Pansy's black hair hung lank and greasy around her pallid, crazed face. It was hard to believe she was once considered a beauty.

She was holding something in her hand, against the woman's head, but Hermione could not see it from so far away and simply assumed it was a wand. After a second's thought, she discreetly ducked under the staff table and moved under it so that she could push, crouched, through the crowd gather in front of her.

"Anybody moves," Pansy yelled to the hall at large, "Any of you even _breathe_, and she dies."

Hermione suddenly collided with a body in the crowd, crouched low like her. Harry. His wand was in his hand.

"_Where's Ron_?" Hermione mouthed silently.

"_I don't know_," Harry mouthed back, his face a mixture of fear and fury.

He leant very close to her ear and breathed, "The Auror's are getting into position. Keep her talking if you can."

Hermione nodded and they separated, Harry moving off to the side and her pushing forwards. Slowly she came to the very edge of the line of people where she stood and stepped out into the open.

"Aha!" cried Pansy, looking positively jubilant when she caught sight of her, "Here's my lawyer! Here's the woman you can thank for my shortened sentence! Wouldn't be here without her!"

Hermione took a careful step forward. "What are you doing, Pansy?" she said lowly, holding her hands out in a placating gesture.

The jubilant look on Pansy's face morphed into a mask of cruelty and violence. "Come and closer, Granger, even one fucking step, and I'll kill her."

She jerked the woman she held slightly and when she did, Hermione finally caught sight of the instrument in her hand, held to the woman's temple.

Pansy Parkinson was holding a gun.

Hermione's blood ran cold. Not many people present would realise what that cold metal thing was, what it was capable of. No wonder so many people in the crowd looking confused. They were too busy staring at Crabbe and Nott who were standing on either side of Pansy with wands in their hands, turning slowly around in battle stance, ready to defend her should the need arise.

And the worst thing was, there wasn't anything in Auror training that detailed how to fight against a person with a gun. That was muggle technology.

"What do you want here, Pansy?" asked Hermione.

"What?" Pansy snarled.

"I'm trying to negotiate with you. You have a hostage and I'd like to trade the hostage for whatever it is you've come here to attain. So I'll ask again, what do you want?"

Pansy grinned a grin of total insanity. "I want mudbloods like you rotting in the ground."

Hermione cringed. It had been so long since she'd had that word used against her, since she'd even heard it at all. It was a shock. And the fact that this was Pansy's motive made it clear that negotiation was impossible.

"Well, I can assure you that woman is not a mudblood," said Hermione, flailing for a way to keep the conversation going, "Her name is Melissa, and she's from a long line of wizards. Her grandfather invented the Draught of Living Death, didn't he Melissa?"

She almost sighed in relief when the woman whimpered and nodded against Pansy's arm, going along with Hermione's blatant untruth.

Pansy laughed. "Yes, that would be convenient wouldn't it? But I know you, Granger, you're a lawyer and lawyer's _lie_."

Hermione took another careful step forward. "Please listen to reason, Pansy-"

Pansy cut her off. "I, however, _don't_ lie! Didn't I say I'd kill her if you came any closer? Well…"

With that, Pansy thrust the woman to the ground in front of her, pointed the gun at her head and pulled the trigger. Blood and bits of bone sprayed across the wooden floor as the scream of the gun proceeded the screams of the crowd. The woman lay still in a rapidly growing pool of her own blood.

Hermione was thrust forward as the crowd surged violently in its hysteria to reach the doors of the hall.

She crashed to her hands and knees mere metres away from Pansy, Crabbe and Nott, as more bangs, the sound of spell fire now accompanying the pistol, surrounded her. Total chaos reigned for a few seconds as the hall quickly emptied of all bar the Aurors and Hermione. She scrambled to her feet, ready to follow the crowd out of the castle. She didn't have her wand, she knew there was no capacity in which she could possibly help in any other way than to be another hostage.

But almost as soon as she'd regained her footing and set off at a run towards the doors, she suddenly collided with something painfully and was launched backwards. From behind her she heard the sound of Pansy cackling madly.

"Wrong side of the shield charm, Granger!" she cried jubilantly.

Hermione turned around to see Pansy approaching her, silhouetted occasionally against the Auror's spells as they crashed against the shield and Crabbe and Nott's spells as they fired back. But Pansy ignored all this.

Hermione pushed herself to her feet again, her eyes fixed on Nott who was standing with his back to her. If she could only wrestle the wand from his hand…

But Pansy laughed again. "Don't even try. Just give up… No? You always were too fucking noble for your own good. Well I'll _make _you give up then."

Pansy raised the gun a second time and fired. The bullet landed in Hermione's thigh and she screamed in agony, her hands flying to the wound immediately to try and stem the thick, red flow that was rapidly beginning to cover her light blue dress, turning it crimson. Pansy closed the remaining distance between them in two steps and Hermione felt the terrifying coldness of the gun pressed into her forehead.

"Look at all that dirty blood," Pansy giggled quietly, "You know, I'm really going to enjoy this. After ten fucking years in Azkaban, it's such a poetic coincidence that I get to murder the very person that put me there on my first day out."

Hermione closed her eyes and pictured Rose and Hugo, she thought of the feel of their skin under her fingers, the sound of their laughter. She didn't want Pansy Parkinson's face and the cold metal pressed into her forehead to be the last thing she ever experienced.

But the death she was expecting never came.

She opened her eyes and looked up to see Pansy's gaze trained above her head, staring at someone behind her on the other side of the shield charm.

"Potter," she snarled viciously, "If you think I won't-"

But she wasn't given the opportunity to finish her sentence.

"_Avada Kedavra_," said Harry's voice, full of cold, ruthless fury.

And then, in a flash of green light, Pansy Parkinson was dead. Her body crumpled inwards with the force of the spell and she fell to the ground.

Hermione could do nothing but stare at her corpse with a mixture of terror, revulsion and relief before Harry growled behind her, "What the fuck are you doing, Hermione, _RUN_!"

"Does it look like I can fucking run, Harry!" she snarled back, her hand still pressed into the wound in her leg.

His eyes moved down to her thigh and his face drained of colour. He took a frantic step forward, hands held out ready to help her stem the flow but he was thrown backwards. The shield charm was still in place and though an Unforgiveable Curse may have been able to get through, he couldn't.

Hermione's head snapped around just in time to see Crabbe and Nott notice Pansy's limp body. Collectively, the two of them turned as one, their faces lined with grief and rage and Hermione knew without a shadow of a doubt that those feeling were about to be directed at her. She had nowhere to run to and no weapon to wield against them.

But then, in a stroke of what she thought was absolutely genius, Hermione remembered the gun. She dived forward, abandoning her attempt to stem the flow of her blood, the movement causing the wound to scream in response, and wrenched the gun from underneath Pansy's dead body.

She raised it quickly, her finger fluttering on the trigger.

Crabbe and Nott, who'd been advancing on her, stopped in their tracks. Evidently Pansy had explained to them what the weapon was and what it could do for they were looking at it as if it were a doomsday device, a ticking bomb.

"Lower the shield charm!" Hermione demanded, trying to pour her remaining strength into her voice. Nott and Crabbe exchanged a frightened look. "LOWER THE FUCKING CHARM!" she bellowed and to her relief, Crabbe flicked his wand. The resistance behind her crumbled.

The Auror's were on them within seconds. Hermione dropped the gun and fell back onto her elbows just as Harry appeared behind her, catching her body. Moments later, Bo was at her side, staring down at Hermione's wounded and blood soaked leg.

"I can heal this, Hermione, it'll be alright," she reassured her, before, to Hermione's alarm, raising her wand.

"Wait! No! You have to get the bullet out!" Hermione screeched.

"The what?" Bo responded, alarmed.

"The thing they fucking shot me with! It's in my leg! You have to get it out!"

"How are we supposed to do that?!" demanded Harry, sounding horrified.

Hermione groaned and sat forwards, seizing Bo's wand. She pointed it at the ragged hole in her skin and said, "_Accio bullet_!"

She'd never know she could scream like that as the bullet that had been lodged deeply in her leg seconds before, clattered on the wooden floor.

With a white faced look of absolute revulsion, Bo went about healing the wound until there was nothing left of it but a puckered, angry looking scar. She then reached into a bag slung about her hips and retrieved a vial which she pushed into Hermione hand.

"Blood replenishing potion," she said faintly.

Hermione downed the liquid in one, relaxing slightly as the weakness and nausea began to ebb from her body as her blood loss eased.

"Where's Ron?" she asked Harry weakly, who was still supporting her body from behind.

"We don't know," he replied fearfully, "We're looking for him now."

"And everyone else?"

"Draco's seeing Crabbe and Nott to Azkaban, the rest of the tovarasi are outside being as useful as they can be with the crowd and… and we don't know where Blaise is either."

Hermione groaned. Together, her and Harry sat in silence for a few moment, watching as the Auror's buzzed around them, as Pansy's body was dragged away and the body of the unnamed woman was covered up.

"Who was she?" asked Hermione after a moment.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley's wife Vanessa," replied Harry woodenly. "And before you go blaming yourself I think Pansy always meant to kill her. She wouldn't have done it impulsively. It was too big a move."

"Yes but it may have been prevented if…"

"If what? If I hadn't told you to go out and try to talk to her? If you hadn't attempted to negotiate? You did all the right things, Hermione, understand that. It was Parkinson who committed the crime, not you."

"And now Pansy's dead too."

"She is. And Nott and Crabbe are on their way back to Azkaban," Harry paused for a moment before saying quietly, "Was she telling the truth? Did you defend her?"

Hermione nodded. "I did. She was one of my first clients. She was trying to appeal the Wizengamot's life sentence. Had already been in Azkaban for three years. I thought… she seemed different. Like she really just wanted to put it all behind her, you know? That's why I tried so hard to get her sentence shortened, because I thought she had genuinely changed."

Harry sighed. "Maybe she had. Maybe ten years in Azkaban simply changed her back."

Hermione nodded sombrely and sighed.

Harry was right of course, there was no use blaming herself for any of the night's events. No one would have guessed that Pansy had a gun, that was her trump card. If she'd come in with a wand, the whole situation would have been stabilised within minutes. The only reason the Auror's hadn't disintegrated the shield char the moment they'd noticed it's presence was because they feared another casualty in Hermione. They were working against a weapon they had no knowledge of at all.

Suddenly, the doors to the great hall, which were shut against the crowd, burst open.

"WHERE'S MY WIFE?!" bellowed a familiar voice that filled Hermione with relief.

She sat up off Harry, being careful to move slowly as her body hadn't quite righted itself yet.

"Here," she said, weakly raising her arm.

Ron's eye's found her and he launched into a run, skidding to a halt on his knees in front of her and enveloping her in a rib crushing hug.

"When I didn't find you outside and they said… they said you were still in here and someone had been shot I… I…" he seemed entirely beside himself.

Hermione could do nothing but pat him feebly on the back as she returned his hug.

When he finally broke away, Harry, to Ron's surprise, punched him in the arm.

"Where the pigging hell have you been?!" he demanded.

"Ow! Bloody hell Harry! I got knocked out in the bathroom, didn't I? Bastard took my wand and Blaise's too!"

"So Blaise is ok?" asked Hermione worriedly.

"Aside from a nasty bump on the head, yeah."

"Thank god."

At that moment, Bo reappeared to check on Hermione's progress.

"Do we know how they got in?" Harry asked her seriously.

"Glamour charms we think, Grant and Washington have been questioning the guests and no one has any recollection of seeing either Parkinson, Crabbe or Nott at any other point over the course of the evening, until they revealed themselves. From what we can gather, Crabbe and Nott accosted Ron and Blaise in the men's bathrooms, knocked them out, stole their wands and the rest you saw," Bo told him as she waved her wand over Hermione's body.

"And the gun?" asked Hermione, "How did they smuggle the gun in?"

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "They didn't need to smuggle it in. We were using dark magic detectors on the guests, not metal detectors. She could have brought it into the castle in her handbag and we wouldn't have known."

"Right. Well, first thing's first," she said as she used Ron's shoulder to push herself to her feet, "I need to get to the office."

"What?!" demanded Harry, looking thoroughly shocked, "You just accioed a bullet out of your own leg Hermione, and now you're talking about going to _work_?!"

"She did _what_?!" exclaimed Ron.

Hermione ignored both of them. "New laws need to be written up so that this sort of thing won't happen again. You know how trends run with dark wizards. You know that Pansy won't be the last to use muggle weapons against wizards once word of this gets out. The Auror's will need to have new courses on muggle weaponry introduced into their training. And metal detectors will need to be added to any security measures undertaken around major events. Law will need to be passed. There is work to be done. You do your job and let me do mine."

She stumbled sideways a little as a phantom pain shot through her previously injured leg but no amount of pain was going to stop her doing her duty.

"Bo," she said in a strained voice, "I'll need my wand."

Bo gave her an admiring look while Harry and Ron's expressions remained disbelieving and indignant.

"Come with me then, I'll have someone escort you off the grounds," said the older which approvingly.

"Thank you," said Hermione before turning to Ron, "I'll see you at home. And if any new information comes up, please have someone get it to me as soon as possible."

Without waiting for a response, Hermione left the hall with Bo.

As she walked through the dark grounds towards the Hogwarts boundary, an Auror at her side, Hermione felt herself fill with all her Gryffindor courage and resilience. This was what kept the darkness at bay, this is what held her life together, the fact that no matter what, no matter how traumatised or scared or hurt she was, she'd always do her duty.

This was what made her luminous.

* * *

A/N - Ok! So that was a rather action packed chapter. I had so much fun writing it too! Though honestly the part with with bullet and how Hermione had to... well you read it. Blergh. Had to have a cigarette and a cup of tea after that. Was a little bit too gory a mental picture to be in my head!  
So anyway, I have two things for you. Number one, I made another trailer for Victim of the Fall... Just because I felt the urge lol.  
Number two, I also made a sort of tribute video to Harry Potter (which, by the way, included dubstep) also because I just felt the urge. The video is about the journey of the Big Seven, being Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Ginny and Draco.  
The links to both are on my profile page! Would love for you all to watch and tell me what you think!

xx

Desdemona


	11. The Year She Walked Away

11.

THE YEAR SHE WALKED AWAY

_October 25__th__, 2011._

"You're _what_?!" demanded Ginny, her voice almost faint with unconcealed disbelief.

"Separated," Hermione confirmed in a weary voice, ready for what she knew was coming.

"Please tell me this is some sort of sick joke, Hermione, really…"

"It's not."

"Whose decision was this, yours or his?" asked Ginny, barely keeping the anger in her voice at bay.

Hermione hesitated. "Mine."

The younger woman's indignation was evident on her face as she sat back in her armchair with a shocked huff. "Then why, of all the people you could have gotten to feel sorry for you Hermione, why did you come to me?"

That remark stung a little, but Hermione endeavoured not to let it show on her face. "Because Ron needs someone right now and he's too proud to ask for it. You're his sister."

"Too fucking right, I'm his sister! And you're breaking my brother's heart! I should throw you out into the street!"

Hermione sighed in tired defeat. "Feel free. I wouldn't blame you…"

Ginny closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a moment in order to compose herself before looking back at Hermione.

"Just… explain to me why you've done this. Your reason better be good. Did he cheat on you? Has he hit you?"

"No… neither," Hermione responded honestly.

Where could she possibly start? Her reasons changed every single second just like her feelings. She'd never been so unsure of something in her entire life. She'd never been so scared that she was doing the wrong thing. And that's what had led her to walking out ultimately, because she'd been just as scared of doing the wrong thing by staying with him.

If she was honest with herself, deep down, Hermione didn't like the person she'd become. She didn't like the things she said to Ron when they fought, didn't like how angry she got, didn't like how ruthless she could be with him. She didn't like that after Hugo was born and how horrible that ordeal had been for their family, Ron had appeared to devote himself, heart and soul, into trying to make things better between them, into being the best husband and father he could be and all Hermione had done was sweep it all under the rug. She'd ignored it all. She'd just let it go, she'd wanted to forget about it.

She hated how much suffering Ron had gone through at her expense, because of her outbursts and her mood swings and her tears and her pain and her feelings.

She was sick of being the bad guy. She was sick of hating him for being perfect, sick of feeling like she was always wrong and he was always right. It had left her bitter and battle weary.

But how could she explain all that to Ginny?

"I have my reasons," she said carefully after a while, "But I don't know that I can articulate them to you right now. And… well… if I can't make Ron understand, I don't see how you could."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well what about your children, your son and your daughter, what about them?"

"They're too young to understand…" Hermione answered, feeling her stomach clench painfully at the thought of them.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Hermione, if it helps," said Ginny cruelly.

"I'm not walking out on them… I… Ron will have them during the week and I'll… I'll take them for the weekend."

"This is pathetic. This is _really _pathetic. _You_ are pathetic, Hermione. My brother is better off without you," Ginny snarled.

Hermione nodded, willing the tears in her eyes to wait only a minute before they fell. She got to her feet and picked up her beaded bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

"Just… just help him, will you? Please… I'm sorry," she said thickly before she walked out of the room, down the hallway, and left number 12, Grimauld Place.

* * *

It was raining in Diagon Alley. The street was near deserted. Hermione pulled her hood over her head as she walked, but it was no real use against the slanting rain.

Visiting Ginny had been hard, and it had been a hard decision to make in the first place. But she hadn't been able to stand the thought of Ron being left all alone. Her guilt and shame was already potent enough in her body. She wanted to try and do at least one good thing.

Hermione knew that if she'd said that to Ron or Ginny both of them would have told her that the one good thing she could do would be to go back to her husband. But she wasn't so sure that it would be good, and it seemed like the sort of thing she ought to be sure about.

Being unsure about leaving him was one thing, but being unsure about staying in their marriage at all was something else entirely.

So she had to get out. She just had to, at least for a while. And that knowledge is what led her to Diagon Alley.

When Hermione finally stopped in front of that old, familiar shop, she looked up, despite the down pour, and there it was. Her old balcony. Unchanged despite the eleven years that had passed since she'd lived there.

Hermione sighed and pushed the door of Flourish and Blotts open, feeling the familiar scent of parchment and ink wash over her as she entered.

She approached the counter where she could just see the top of Graham Flourish's balding head poking over the edge from behind it.

"Mr Flourish?"

His lined visage appeared, took in her face, and broke into a wide, friendly smile. "Hermione Granger. Well I'll be damned."

She returned his smile feebly.

He emerged fully from behind the counter, the look of joy on his face never faltering, and grasped one of her hands in both of his enthusiastically.

"It's been far too long! I haven't seen you in here once since I got the mail order service up and running!"

"I know, Graham, I'm sorry. Life's been pretty busy."

"Well never mind, never mind, you're here now. What can I do for you? How can I help?"

"I was… I was actually wondering if the flat upstairs was empty or not?"

Graham frowned, a look of concern crossing his face. "Empty since the day you left, Hermione, why do you ask?"

"Well… I was wondering if I could… If I could stay there for a while. And I'll pay you full rent this time, you can't stop me," she told him, smiling shakily.

He looked confused. "But don't you have a big house up north? With your husband?"

She nodded, her lower lip quivering despite her efforts to stop it. "Yes, but… It's…"

_Broken. We broke it._

She couldn't finish her sentence aloud. Her breathing hitched and her voice broke. She pressed a hand to her mouth, wishing that she weren't so damned weak.

Graham moved quickly around the counter and rested a hand on her back. "Oh love… Of course you can stay here, you know I'm always happy to have you. You stay as long as you need to… to sort yourself out."

"Thank you," Hermione sniffed, wiping at her eyes.

"When can I expect you?"

"Actually, I have everything I need now, right here…" she patted the old, tattered beaded bag slung over her shoulder.

"Alright, come on then, let's get the tea on, let the light in," said Graham, moving over to the front doors of the shop, flipping the sign and locking them, before gesturing for her to follow him into the back room. "I've had a stasis charm on the place for over a decade now. So it shouldn't be too bad in there."

Hermione didn't really mind what state it was in. She just wanted to be there. She wasn't even sure why when, just as Ginny had pointed out, there were so many people in her life she'd be able to make feel sorry for her and take her in. Perhaps it was for that reason alone. She couldn't handle the idea of any of the tovarasi taking sides, whether it be hers or Ron's. She couldn't stand the idea of hearing their opinions. And that flat in Diagon Alley was the only place she'd ever been able to find solitude in all her life. That's what she wanted. She wanted to be alone. At least for now.

Graham led her up the winding spiral staircase with the peeling red paint and onto the landing with the large, heavy door that had to be pushed roughly in order to force it to open. He produced that great set of keys from inside his robes, fiddled with them for a moment, before pushing the appropriate key into the lock and heaving.

And there it was. Her flat.

_Her flat_.

The old wooden double doors that led from the lounge room to the balcony, obscured by a heavy set of curtains. The high ceiling with spider webs scattered across the corners. The faded wooden floor boards, covering in a thick layer of dust. The large, lazy looking couch. The weather beaten coffee table. The vast, empty bookshelf that obscured the opposite wall. And even, to her amazement, the impossibly huge, threadbare Persian rug covered in patterns that seemed to dance when she was looking at it out of the corner of her eye.

Hermione walked quietly into the kitchen, her heart filling at those same brilliant, azul blue tiles, at the window with a chipped frame that looked out over London.

Once again, she was on the cusp between the wizarding world and the muggle one.

Where she belonged.

Even that faint, humming buzz was still there, pulsing slightly as if the Dividing Line was welcoming her home.

She wandered then, down the tiny hallway leading off the living area to the only other room in her flat. Her bedroom where the ceiling was also high, but slanted with exposed beams, where the large picture window gazed down at Diagon Alley. There was the door, next to her nightstand, that led into the quaint little bathroom with tiles as blue as the kitchen's. There was the ornate wooden armoire in the corner. And there was the huge, luxurious looking four poster bed it matched.

Hermione returned to the lounge room to find Graham opening the curtains and the balcony door, despite the rain, to let out some of the musty air.

She was glad for the stasis charm he'd placed on the flat all those years ago, glad that it had been preserved just as she remembered it. It certainly felt abandoned, as if it hadn't seen life in a decade, but she still felt at home, deep in her heart.

The landlord did not linger long. He seemed to sense that she wanted to be left alone and so, after only a few minutes, he announced his departure.

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything, love. And don't hesitate to ask if you do!" he told her as he handed over the key.

"Actually," she said, almost as an afterthought, "There was one more thing. I've taken some time off work… Rather a lot of time actually. So if you like, I could come down and work in the shop. I'd… I'd really like that."

Graham smiled widely, "I could think of nothing better."

And with that, he left, heaving the door closed behind him, leaving Hermione alone.

Alone.

That first night in the flat was so startlingly familiar to her first night over a decade ago that it was painful. She spent an hour or two keeping busy, cleaning the place up and distributing her belongings around it, but when she was done, she just fell. She fell so fast and so hard she was surprised she was surviving it.

The worst thing about all that sadness though, was that she wasn't the wilful, destructive and impulsive teenager she once was. She couldn't hurt herself, as much as she might have wanted to, she couldn't throw things or yell or have a tantrum. She couldn't refuse to eat or shower or sleep in defiance of her own life.

She just wasn't that stubborn anymore and because of that, she felt powerless. She couldn't do _anything_ with the feeling aside from _feel it_.

She could only lay on the lounge room floor, on the threadbare Persian rug, and sob ceaselessly, without pause, until midnight rolled around and she went to bed.

Ginny was right.

Hermione was pathetic.

* * *

_October 28__th__, 2011_.

Three days later and there was nothing easier about living on her own. Her only solace had been working in the shop, neck deep in the books and their scent. Every now and then, someone recognised her and demanded to know why, in their own words of course, a rich, powerful woman such as her was working a bookshop. She'd only smile politely and ask them if they required a bag in which to put their purchases.

The only upside to her relocation was that we was getting exactly what she wanted, time on her own. There was something so freeing about being in that flat, knowing that no one was going to write to her, no demands were going to be made of her, she wasn't going to be interrupted in any way shape or form.

She'd heard from no one, none of the tovarasi since she'd left Ron. Whether that was because no one had looked for her, or because they'd chosen not to she didn't know. And that idea hurt more than she thought it should have. She had wanted time alone, that was her goal. But it still ached that no one was trying to find out why.

They need only to have asked Ron. He was the only person she'd told after all.

But even he'd let her be, which she supposed wasn't surprising in the least. How he must hate her now. How much _everyone _must hate her. She felt sure that if it wasn't for Rose and Hugo, all her friends would probably understand quite well why she'd walked out. But as it was, all they could see was her abandoning her children.

Hermione was both longing for and dreading the weekend. Her first visit with them.

Yes, she was the kind of mother who had visits now.

She didn't think she'd be able to handle it. The guilt she felt over leaving them behind was the most potent, most terrifying shame she'd ever felt in her life. She didn't need anyone else telling her she was a horrible human being because she felt it already.

But, the fact that she still stayed away despite that, that she was still intent on severing her relationship with Ron despite the soul destroying shame, only went to show just how unhappy she'd really been. If what awaited her if she took him back was worse than what she felt right then, she'd rather die.

That afternoon, Hermione wrote Ron a short note to confirm her taking Rose and Hugo for the weekend before walking down to the owl office to post it. She didn't expect him to reply, in fact, she half expected him to refuse point blank in his anger. But the courtesies had to be observed.

It was sort of nice being outside, just as the sun was setting, bathing Diagon Alley in that sweetly refreshing, cool air that came with dusk, spiced that day with the lingering moisture of the rain. As she walked, feeling the breeze kiss at her skin, she began to feel something close to normal, something close to assuredness that she was actually doing the right thing.

It was such a pity that just then, when she was feeling something that might have been close to contentedness, she was to have her first taste of what life looked like _outside_ the tovarasi.

"Hermione?"

She'd been distracted by a collection of potions ingredients stacked in the window of a nearby shop but her head snapped around at the sound of her name to find George approaching her, a carry bag full of what looked to be groceries slung under one arm.

"George," she said in surprise, shocked that he'd spoken to her at all.

"How are you?" he asked, and she was shocked again that he sounded so concerned.

"I'm… uh… Fine… yeah…" she stuttered.

"I heard you were back living above the bookshop."

"For the time being, yes," Hermione replied, knowing that there was only one person he could have possibly heard that from.

George seemed about to speak again but Juliet suddenly appeared beside him.

"What are you doing, babe? I thought we were going…" she trailed off once she'd spotted Hermione, "Oh. It's you."

There was no mistaking the disdain in her voice but the sound of it, the cold, cruelty in it was so shocking coming from someone as naturally sweet and understanding as Juliet, that Hermione took an involuntary step backward in alarm.

Juliet met her gaze head on, as if daring Hermione to say something in her own defence. But she couldn't. All she could do was stare at the younger woman in pain. Part of her wanted to scream at Juliet, to hit her for being so cold, for placing her loyalty in someone other than Hermione, but the other part of her understood. It understood entirely why Hermione didn't get the loyalty, didn't get the love and understanding that Ron got. It was because there was something inherently wrong with her. Between her and Ron, she was the crazy one. Who was going to sympathise with a mad woman?

"Well," said Juliet unfeelingly after a silence that had lasted far too long, "Don't let us keep you."

And with that, she seized George's arm and dragged him away to walk with her back towards Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He flashed Hermione an apologetic look over his shoulder as they went.

All previous contentedness or peace of mind that Hermione had attained was unceremoniously dashed as she rushed to the owl office, posted the letter to Ron, and went home again to sit on the faded brown couch, staring blindly around her in shock and fear.

To see firsthand like that, so obviously and openly, that she was no longer a member of the tovarasi, it was painful. She'd thought they could get through anything together. Because everyone understood how crazy everyone else was. But perhaps Hermione had gone just that little bit too far. She'd gone over board and none of them were interested in being dragged down with her.

* * *

_October 29__th__, 2011._

Hermione apparated directly onto the front porch of her and Ron's home late in the afternoon, feeling like she was just about ready to vomit. Just as she'd predicted, Ron hadn't responded to her letter and she was readying herself for a confrontation, as much as she might have wished she could avoid it.

She approached the front door, her hand reaching out for the knob but she withdrew it quickly, as if she'd been burned. She lifted her fist and knocked instead. It felt more appropriate.

There were a few moments of silence before she heard the thump, thump, thump of his footsteps.

The door swung open.

Never had she seen him wear a face of such open hatred and contempt.

"Hi," she said wearily, knowing that it was far too much to expect for this to be easy.

"What do you want?" he snarled.

"You know what I want, Ron, I'm here to pick up Rose and Hugo."

"You think I'm going to let you take them, after everything you've done?! You think I'll let you take them to that dingy little flat?! Do you even have anything for them to eat?! Do you even know where they'll sleep?!"

"I wouldn't be any kind of mother if I didn't."

"Well that's funny because I don't see any kind of fucking mother here!" he said viciously.

Hermione visibly flinched, trying to keep calm, trying to keep it together, but she couldn't stop her eyes filling with tears. She ducked her head and let her hair swing forward in an effort to hide it.

"Oh please tell me you're not fucking crying now…" said Ron, rolling his eyes. He leant down so that he could see her eyes and said, "Doesn't work on me anymore, love, I'm immune to this bullshit."

Hermione wiped her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. She refused to fight, she refuse to get hysterical or angry. She just wouldn't do it.

"Are the kids ready?" she asked thickly.

Ron laughed sarcastically, "Haven't you cottoned on yet? You're not having them!"

Hermione felt her blood boil then. He could say whatever he liked to her, attack any number of her faults, and she would remain calm. But he wasn't going to stand between her and her children.

"Did you imagine you could stop me having them, Ron?"

He laughed again, "Yeah! I do!"

Then, he slammed the door in her face.

Hermione sighed and turned onto the spot, materialising metres away, right in front of Ron as he swept back down the long hallway. He jumped at her sudden appearance.

"My house too, Ron, I can apparate and disapparate anywhere I like within its boundaries. Now the way I see it, we can do this one of two ways. Either you and I can go upstairs, collect Rose and Hugo and their overnight bags, you can smile and say goodbye to them for a few days, then I will bring them back on Monday. _Or _I can apparate upstairs, magically block the stairs behind me, and rush them to getting their stuff together before apparating them both away, absolutely terrified. Which would you prefer Ron? Because I'm crazy, remember? I'm willing to go either way…"

Ron gave her a look of deepest loathing but she knew she'd gotten through to him. He was well aware that she'd meant what she'd said. There really was nothing that would stop her seeing Rose and Hugo. Nothing at all. He could comply or he couldn't, either way she'd be leaving the house with both of them.

After a moment, he pushed past her with a stiff nod and they ascended the stairs together. She could hear Rose chatting away with Hugo in her room, behind a closed door and Hermione's heart clenched and unclenched painfully at the sound.

Ron reached out his hand and laid it on the doorknob. But he didn't turn it. He just looked at her, and for a second she couldn't see his hatred and his anger. She could just see how scared and hurt he was.

"Please don't make them hate me," he said quietly, honestly.

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing could inspire me to inflict that kind of damage upon them, Ron. I promise."

He nodded tightly and she could see his jaw working backwards and forwards for a second, as if he was trying to hold back his own tears. She wanted to reach out a hand and comfort him, because in that moment, where he wasn't trying to hurt her, and he was just being honest, she missed him. She missed _him_. Ron, her partner, the person who'd always been there, for years and years and years. He was her home.

If only he could have stayed there, in that moment, if only he could have cultivated that honesty and kept it, she'd have taken him back in a second. But it was only a moment before his face was hard again and he opened the door of Rose's room.

Hermione walked inside and immediately had the wind knocked out of her as Rose catapulted into her body.

"Mummy!" the girl cried in barely inhibited joy.

Hermione allowed herself to be hugged by Rose for a second, her other arm opening to accept Hugo who waddled over to join them, grinning from ear to ear.

"You're going to come and stay with me for a few days, how would you like that?" Hermione asked, feeling like she was about to lose her mind entirely to the hurt she was experiencing in her chest.

"Yeah!" cried Hugo enthusiastically.

"And Daddy too?" asked Rose.

Hermione shook her head, trying to keep her smile firmly planted on her face. "No, darling, daddy's going to stay here."

To Hermione's surprise, Rose suddenly backed away from her, looking hurt and angry.

"Why?!" she demanded.

Hermione turned her head to look at Ron, who was staring hard at Rose.

"Well," said Hermione, hating every moment of this, "Your dad and I are… We don't want to be friends right now, Rosie. Remember when James pinched you and pulled your hair last Christmas and you didn't want to be his friend anymore?"

Rose nodded.

"Well, it's like that."

Rose's bottom lip began to tremble as her anger seemed to dissipate. "You and daddy don't wanna be friends?" she asked, sounding heartbroken at the idea.

Hermione's head dipped forward into her hands in relief when Ron finally stepped forward and crouched down in front of Rose.

"We just don't want to be friends right now, Rosie. Ok? But it doesn't mean never. We'll be friends again soon," he told her in a soothing, kind voice, a voice that Hermione missed hearing directed at her.

"But why not now?" asked Rose.

"Because that's just not how things work, love," Ron replied.

Hermione got to her feet, taking Hugo with her and resting him on her hip. Rose glared up at her mother, her eyes full of blame and resentment.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to, love," Hermione told her, "I'll understand if you don't want to, if you want to stay with Daddy…"

"I want to stay with Daddy," said Rose defiantly.

Hermione's heart broke and her eyes flashed to Ron, ready to see his face full of smugness. But it was just the opposite. He looked just as hurt, just as confused and heartbroken as her. She tried and succeeded to stop herself crying before she shuffled forward, gave Rose a kiss on the top of the head, patted Ron on the back, picked up Hugo's bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"Alright," she said, smiling, "I'll see you two on Monday!"

And she walked out. Hermione walked down the stairs with Hugo on her hip and allowed the tears to spill down her face in one, ceaseless flow. Hugo put out his tiny hand and rested it on her cheek. She turned her head and kissed his palm, wet with her grief.

Just when she'd almost reached the fire place, Ron came pounding down the stairs after her.

"Hermione! Wait. She does want to come, she just wanted to be sure I wasn't going to be lonely if she did. She's just getting some things together," he told her and Hermione felt some of the weight on her shoulders lift slightly.

Ron moved towards her and Hugo and placed his hands over his son's ears, kissing him on the top of the head as he said quietly, "This is fucked."

"I know," Hermione responded tightly, "Trust me, I know."

"So come back…"

"I wish it were that easy."

Ron nodded and stepped back as Rose careened into the room, her bag bounding along beside her. Hermione threw a handful of floo powder into the empty grate before she took Rose's hand.

"I miss you," said Ron.

"Miss you too," Hermione replied before she stepped into the fire, called out for the Leaky Cauldron and Ron was lost in a swirl of colour.

* * *

That night found Rose and Hermione sitting across from each other over the coffee table with Hugo on Hermione's lap. She'd put a pile of pillows on the floor for Rose to sit on and the little girl kept bouncing herself up and down on them, sending flecks of spaghetti flying off her fork all over the table and floor. Hermione didn't have the heart to tell her to stop.

"You don't have a dinner table, mummy," said Rose.

"I know sweetie, my flat isn't big enough."

Rose smiled happily, her face covered in bolognaise. "I like this better."

Hermione laughed, "Well, I'm glad!"

She helped Hugo twirl a bit of spaghetti on his fork before guiding it to his mouth. He hummed happily at her.

The flat felt safer with them in it. Hermione felt more together. She had a purpose.

After that, the rest of the evening passed favourably for the three of them. They listened to music on the old record player that Hermione had brought with her and danced until their legs were sore. Then, she'd taken both of them to bed and read Pride and Prejudice aloud until Rose and Hugo were fast asleep.

* * *

_October 29__th__, 2011._

On Saturday, they went down to Diagon Alley to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, because Rose couldn't bare being so close to the shop without buying anything. Hermione was glad when she entered, that Juliet wasn't there though she doubted the younger witch would dare make a scene in front of Rose and Hugo. George greeted them all warmly and as he and Hermione led the two children through the shelves, she couldn't help noticing the pained looks he kept flashing her. Like he felt sorry for her. He gave away half the things that Rose and Hugo picked up, even though he knew full well that Hermione could afford them, and even slipped Hermione herself a packet of specialty flavoured cigarettes.

This only served to make her resentful with him. She knew that all this was supposed to communicate to her that he was on her side but he was clearly too worried about what Juliet would think and so didn't want to say anything out right. Hermione felt her respect for him dropping with every passing minute she spent around him. She'd thought better of George, really, she'd always known him to be the sort of man that said what he thought no matter what. But clearly, he'd changed.

The remainder of the day Hermione, Rose and Hugo whiled away the time exploring and playing with all their new possessions back at the flat until, by the time night fell, her lounge room was full of colourful bubbles, disco like lighting and an array of tiny dinosaurs that really moved and kept sneaking away to hide under cupboards and behind furniture.

All in all, by the time Rose and Hugo were ready for their bedtime story, Hermione realised she'd actually had fun, real fun, laughing, playful fun, for what felt like the first time years.

* * *

_October 30__th__, 2011_

On Sunday, Hermione decided to take her children to Hogwarts to see Teodora. She sent an owl ahead on Sunday morning, slightly fearful that the tovarasi's shunning of her might have extended to their old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher too, and was overjoyed when she received a fast reply by lunchtime saying that her, Rose and Hugo would be more than welcome.

So they'd had lunch, gotten dressed in warm clothes, and set off for Hogwarts, Rose and Hugo bursting with excitement to see the place their parents so often spoke about.

Teodora met them at the front doors and did not wait to envelope Hermione in a tight, warm hug, before she greeted both the children. They began to walk towards the lake, Rose and Hugo skipping off ahead but always staying in Hermione's eye line.

"You have wonderful children, Hermione, have I told you that before?" said Teodora, watching them with a wide smile on her face.

Hermione smiled, "Thank you. I think they're pretty neat too," she chuckled.

"How are they handling all of this?"

Hermione balked. "How did you know?"

"I hear things, love," Teodora responded, smiling.

"Oh… Well… I think they're handling it ok. I mean, I suppose I don't really know. I guess they're probably confused. Especially Rose. I'm terrified that I'm doing something that's going to damage them for the rest of their lives, Teodora. I can't stand the idea of causing them pain but…"

"But the one thing more impossible that leaving was staying. I understand."

Hermione nodded but made no move to reply. She didn't really know what else to say. Teodora had essentially hit the nail on the head.

"You know," said Teodora seriously after some time, "I think that every parent has a duty to damage their child in some way. Otherwise they would be no kind of parent. I'm not saying that any child deserves pain, but the pain that they will feel, and pain is inevitable, builds the resilience in them. No parent can expect to raise a child without hurting them. We're only human. You're not the first person to walk out of a bad marriage to save your own happiness. Some might see it as selfish but at least we can say that it is not self-destructive."

"But what if it isn't a bad marriage, Teodora? What if it's just me?"

"I don't see that the two things are different. Perhaps it _is_ just you. But in my experience no one is ever entirely at fault. You both have an equal part to play," Teodora told her, "And if it was not bad in some way, you would not have left."

They fell silent and watched as Rose brought Hugo a tiny blue flower, which she tucked behind his ear. Hermione smiled.

* * *

_October 31__st__, 2011._

On Monday afternoon, Hermione took Rose and Hugo back home. Ron was back to treating her with barely veiled contempt and so she stayed only long enough to give both her children long, tight hugs, and assure them she'd be back on Friday to pick them up again before she left to go back to her flat in Diagon Alley alone.

It was too quiet without them there, too still. As she sat on her couch, nursing a cup of tea, she watched as one of Hugo's little dinosaurs stuck its head out from behind the book shelf and sniffed the air. That's when she began to cry again.

How did people do it? How did anyone manage to go through a separation when there were children involved with any level of sanity at all? Hermione was half ready to take Ron back just so that all the pain and drama would end. She was beginning to feel desperate, after only a week of living alone and couldn't imagine how she'd deal with a month or more. Logic told her that it would get better, get easier, but it didn't feel like that was happening at all. It wasn't getting worse _or _better. It was just staying exactly the same. And being the same was exhausting.

At seven o'clock, Hermione dragged herself off the couch and heated up a bowl of last night's chicken satay for herself, weeping the whole time, before she forced herself to eat it.

When she was done, she settled in for another bout of sobbing, ready to push on like that until midnight when she would go to bed, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Hermione hurriedly brushed the tears from her face, hoping that she didn't look as bad as she felt because she knew it would no doubt worry Graham, the only guest she could expect.

But it wasn't Graham.

"Fucking hell," said Isobel when Hermione opened the door, "You look like you should be on suicide watch."

"Oh yeah," said Astoria from beside her, "Because we totally expected her to look any different…"

"What… what are you two doing here?" asked Hermione, her voice faint with disbelief.

"What did you think we were going to do?" asked Isobel, "Let you deal with this shit all on your own?"

The two of them pushed past Hermione into the flat as Hermione said, "Well… yeah. That's exactly what I thought."

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Come on Hermione, get your mind out of the gutter. Not everyone was going to be on his side."

Isobel wore a look of joy and excitement on her face as she stared around at the flat, wandering into the kitchen, then the bedroom, breathing deep that familiar musky scent.

"Why didn't you come before, then?" asked Hermione after a moment.

"Probably because you disappeared off the face of the planet!" Isobel exclaimed, slumping down on the couch and staring around herself happily. "Oh, I missed this place…"

"But, Ron…" Hermione began but Astoria cut her off.

"Ron wouldn't tell us where you were, Hermione. We tried going to your office but Dawn told us you'd quit your job…"

"What the fuck, by the way," added Isobel.

"In the end it took both of us threatening him before Ron was willing to tell us anything at all. He kept saying that if you wanted to be found, you'd have contacted us."

"I think he was just deliberately being a stubborn cock," added Isobel bitterly.

Hermione could do nothing but stare between the two of them in open mouthed shock. She'd so thoroughly convinced herself that they'd all thrown her over, thinking she was behaving horribly, it seemed like a blissful dream that Astoria and Isobel were even there when only minutes before she'd believed herself to be totally without friends, totally without allies.

Quietly, because she needed a moment to process it all, Hermione made her way into the kitchen to make the three of them tea, listening with a detached and disbelieving sort of contentedness as Isobel began telling Astoria of all the times and experiences the tovarasi had shared in that flat, how her and Hermione had spent so many nights, lying together in the four poster bed talking; how all the girls in the tovarasi had begun to be friends that Saturday years ago when they'd heard a particularly special song that made them think of all that they'd lost and all that they could share.

Hermione found herself sighing at the memory of it all as she listened to Isobel speak.

Back then was a different world.

After a few moments of melancholic nostalgia, Hermione returned to the lounge room with three mugs which she set down on the coffee table. Astoria and Isobel's died as they regarded her seriously from the couch as Hermione took her seat opposite them on the floor. She felt like a child about to get chastised by her parents.

"Why didn't you talk to us?" asked Isobel after a lengthy silence.

"I thought you'd be angry at me," Hermione answered honestly.

"Why?"

"Because Ginny was… And Juliet…"

"And they're really the only people who know, Hermione. I don't think you realise… Ron didn't exactly announce it from the rooftops. And Ginny didn't either. The only reason Juliet was aware is, I'm assuming, because George told her. The Weasleys seem pretty intent on keeping a very tight lid on this," Isobel explained.

"What about Harry?"

Astoria grimaced as her and Isobel exchanged a look. "I get the feeling he just doesn't want to get involved."

That hurt. Hermione had hoped that Harry might take that approach, but not that it would mean he wouldn't speak to her. But it seemed logical really, when she thought about it. Harry had to work with Ron every day and he wasn't the sort of person who could interact on a purely professional level, it would be too hard. So she could see why he'd chosen to avoid her, but it didn't stop it setting off an ache in her chest.

"So you quit your job?" asked Isobel, snapped Hermione to attention.

Hermione nodded.

"Why?" asked Astoria.

"Because… after last year… I don't know. I guess I didn't feel like I was doing any good for the world anymore."

"Is that why he asked you to leave then? Because of the money? Did he have a problem with it?" asked Astoria.

"No," Hermione answered, surprised that they thought the separation had been his choice and not hers. "No, I quit _after_ we separated. And… I left him, not the other way around."

Isobel and Astoria did not look in the least surprised.

"Aren't you going to ask me why?" said Hermione with a weary chuckle.

Isobel shrugged. "I don't know that I have to. I mean, I'm well aware of how much of a toxic bitch you can be sometimes, Hermione, trust me. But Ron's not perfect either."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if Bo shamed me the way he shames you, I'd probably have walked out too."

Astoria nodded her agreement to this statement.

"You think he shames me?" Hermione asked quietly.

Isobel and Astoria exchanged another look before Astoria leant forward, her elbows on her knees, and looked at Hermione intently. "More than I think you realise. And I'm not calling you stupid, Hermione, you're capable of being an extremely perceptive woman, but I think you're so used to it now that you don't realise when he's doing it."

"The way he rolls his eyes when you get passionate about something and go on one of your rants," Isobel explained, "That's shaming. As if he's humouring you. As if what you're saying doesn't really mean anything. The way he tells you to calm down when you're upset, or says you're over-reacting. The way he feels free to offer harsh advice about your choices like it's nothing, but if you try to pull him up on anything, he loses his head. It's these little things, stuff that no one notices unless they look hard enough, that tell you that he's trying, probably without realising it, to keep you in your position as the crazy one."

Hermione was utterly speechless. The idea that someone was even willing to not only ladle out some of the blame to Ron, but also to offer a valid reason as to why was beyond her comprehension. She'd really thought that the world outside of their home perceived her as the one that caused all the problems. It felt like a huge weight off her chest to find out that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't.

After some time, she said, "You know, it just baffles me sometimes that of all people, you Slytherins seem to be the most understanding."

Astoria laughed. "That's because we know about self-preservation. The rest of you always just assume, by default, that being noble and being brave is the right thing to do in any situation. We disagree. Why do you think the houses have always clashed so much? Aside from the blood purity thing of course…"

"If you want to go into all that house politics stuff," Isobel added, "You can pretty accurately judge how every member of the tovarasi is going to react. I mean, the Gryffindors will get all uppity and self-righteous with all that think-of-the-children bullshit, the Hufflepuffs will follow the majority, the Ravenclaws will see the logic of both arguments and the Slytherins will see your quest for self-preservation as something to be admired," she gave Hermione a long look. "You were never going to be alone, Hermione. Not all of us are as sanctimonious as Ginny."

"But what _about_ my children, Isobel? None of this is fair to them."

"No it isn't, and I won't pretend otherwise. Not even to save your feelings. But feeling guilty about it won't change what is. You've left him. That's it."

Hermione's gaze dropped to her hands in her lap. She felt the weight of her own decisions, her own actions resting heavily on her shoulders.

"Are you really sure about this, Hermione?" asked Astoria quietly, "I mean, are you sure you're ready to leave him? Are you really ready for your life to be turned upside down? Is this what you want?"

Hermione shook her head as a tear slid down her nose. "I don't know. I honestly don't know."

"Are you still in love with him?"

"Yes, yes I think I am. If I weren't, then I feel like this would be easy."

Neither Isobel nor Astoria said anything to this. There was nothing to say.

Hermione was right of course, if she'd not been in love with Ron, leaving him would have been a simple decision. But it was her love for him that made it all so painful, because deep down, she felt betrayed by him for more reasons than she could count, and she felt like she let herself down with her behaviour around him. Really, she did blame both of them. Her and Ron were equally broken and equally at fault for the disintegration of their marriage. He was just much better at hiding it.

He could parade around all he liked, acting like the perfect husband and the perfect father. Ron played that role well to the outside world. But what they didn't see was how he could be in private. When it came to the hard times, he'd lose his cool as easily as she did and fall straight back onto his old behaviour.

Astoria and Isobel did not stay long after that, having children and partners of their own to get back to.

Hermione was grateful though, beyond expression, that they'd come at all. It soothed her heart to know that she still had allies out there, people willing to support her, willing to fight for her.

* * *

_November 3__rd__, 2011._

Hermione's life felt a little bit like consistently banging her head against a brick wall. Pointless, painful and annoying. She'd spent of the past three days sort of drifting through her existence, feeling like she was only really living for the weekend and hoping that the rest of her life wouldn't look like that.

Isobel and Astoria hadn't been back to see her in the intervening days, but they'd written, letting her know they loved her and that she wasn't alone.

It wasn't until late Thursday night that Hermione's melancholic solitude was interrupted yet again, by another completely unexpected knock at the door.

When she heaved herself off the couch, turning the record that had been playing off, and wiping her eyes, the last person she expected to show up at her flat was the one she found on the other side of the door when she opened it.

Draco.

Her mouth fell open in shock but just as she was about to offer him a rather surprised greeting, he planted his hands on her shoulders, pushed her back into the flat, slammed the door behind him and rounded on her.

"You fucking _left_ him?!" he yelled in pure indignation as if she'd done him a great injustice.

"Um…" said Hermione.

"Of all the things, Hermione! After all that time! You choose _now _to fucking _finally _come to your fucking senses for fucks sake!"

"Draco… what…?" she stammered.

He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "This is just perfect, just fucking perfect. I mean honestly," he began to laugh, sounding slightly crazy, "You don't know the half of this. Really. Wow."

"Ok…" she said carefully, beginning to think that maybe he'd lost his mind.

"Here's the thing, alright? Here's the fucking thing. Astoria and I eloped last weekend. I, Hermione, am a married man!"

He held up his hand to show her the thin band of silver around his wedding finger.

"But that's…" she began, about to congratulate him, but he cut her off.

"No! No! You don't get to do that! You don't get to tell me how fucking happy for me you are! Alright?!"

"Draco…"

He kicked the coffee table in his apparent fury. "I really can't fucking believe this!"

"Draco!"

"And I can't fucking do anything about it now can I?!"

"DRACO FOR FUCKS SAKE, WILL YOU STOP YELLING AT ME!" Hermione bellowed over the top of him.

He stopped and turned to her and she was surprised to see that his face wasn't filled with fury or anger. It was sad. He was sad.

"Please," she said calmly, "Just explain to me what the problem is, Draco."

He sat down heavily on the couch and his head fell into his hands. When he looked up at her again, he wore an expression of fierce determination, as if he knew what he was about to do and didn't give a damn about the consequences.

Then he began speaking, saying things that Hermione did not want to hear, that changed her whole world.

"I love Astoria. I really do. She's… she's perfect. But to be honest…" Draco took a deep, long breath before he looked directly into her eyes, "I was waiting, Hermione, for you. I've always been waiting for you. For those first few years after you and Ron got back together I tried to pretend I wasn't, I tried to pretend that you were nothing to me, that you were annoying. But really, I was praying, wishing that you'd wake up. That you'd see that you're too good for him, even though you're fucking crazy, even though you think you're so flawed that it surprises you when anyone sees beauty in you. I thought you'd see that you could be great, that you _are _great. And that he didn't bring out that greatness in you, he just squashed it because it outshone the greatness in him. Even when you had Rose, and then Hugo… I still hoped. You seemed so flat and lonely… And then, a couple of months ago Astoria starts talking about marriage, and I'd known that it had always bothered my mother that we'd never tied the knot, that Scorpius is technically an illegitimate child… So I thought about it. And I thought it was about time I gave up, because you seemed to be happy again. I thought you were happy…"

Hermione sat down on the floor across from him, barely aware of her own body. She wanted to hear more, but at the same time, she wished she'd not heard any of it at all.

"I agreed, in the end," continued Draco, quietly, "I agreed because I love her and I want to make her happy. And because I thought that waiting for you was a waste of my life. And just when I do that, just when I finally give in to her and give up on you, you wake up. And I can't do a thing about it now, Hermione. I made a commitment."

It was too big to think about, too big to even comprehend. Eleven years they'd spent waiting for each other, thinking that the other person did not feel the same, trying to convince themselves that they were already happy in their own, separate lives. And it was all ending in this.

"I understand now," said Hermione heavily, "I get it, Draco."

"And that's it, I guess," he said before he stood up, "I should go now."

He adjusted his cloak and made towards the door but just as his hand reached out to open it, Hermione jumped to her feet.

"Wait. No… Don't go. Just… just stay, Draco. Please," she said quietly.

"If you mean that I should… that we should…"

"No, I don't mean that. I really don't mean that," she said firmly, shaking her head. "Does Astoria know you're here?"

"Yes."

"Does she know _why _you're here?"

"No. I told her I was coming to see if you were alright. She only just told me tonight that you and Ron had separated."

"Ok… well… Maybe we should talk then, Draco. Maybe we should just… talk."

They looked at each other for a long time, each waiting for the other to crumble. It almost would have been better if she'd suggested they sleep together, because having a conversation about their relationship and their history was so much bigger and so much more confronting than sex. It was something they'd never done, not once, since the night they had discovered the memory about Voldemort's final Horcrux.

Hermione realised then that the one thing she'd been really craving over the last decade had been that conversation. And Draco probably had too, but they'd kept their mouths shut against all the things they'd wanted to say to each other for fear of what it would do to their lives.

Now, it felt like none of that really mattered. It felt like it just had to happen, for better or worse.

Draco was the first to move. He lifted his hand and unfastened his cloak. Hermione watched as he shrugged it off and laid it over the arm of the couch before he walked towards her and took her hand. He led her into the bedroom and they climbed onto the bed together, coming to rest on their sides, not touching but close enough to feel each other's breath.

"Sometimes I think it's funny," said Hermione after a few long minutes, "You and I were only really together for four months, weren't we? It seems like such an insignificant amount of time and yet… After eleven years…"

"I think we were together from the moment you saw me in Diagon Alley that day before term started," Draco responded.

Hermione laughed. "Really? But I _loathed _you then! I was unshakeable in my opinion that you should have been in prison!"

"Yes, but think about it, we were entangled from that moment. Even if our feelings were less than favourable, they were still there. They were still powerful emotions."

"By that logic you could say that we never really broke up."

"I don't think we ever did," said Draco.

Hermione sighed and they fell silent.

After some time he spoke again. "What's something you've always wanted to ask me?"

She didn't need to think about the question, it came unbidden to her mind. "Was I right to interpret that record as a story?"

He smiled. "You're too smart for your own good."

Hermione chuckled. "It wasn't really me, to be honest. Ebony was there when I got it. She was the one who pointed out the progression… I still listen to it, you know. Now and then. Sometimes I try not to because it just reminds me of you but other times… I suppose I want to be reminded… But anyway. Your turn, what's something you always wanted to ask _me_?"

"What were you thinking about when I asked you to dance at Ginny and Harry's wedding?"

She screwed up her face, bringing the memory forth in her mind. "I was thinking about the first time I told you I loved you. I was thinking about how much you'd changed."

"I hadn't changed. I was just hiding."

"I know that now. It just took me a while to figure it out… Did you do it on purpose when you asked me to dance? Did you know how it would affect me?"

He looked guilty and sad. "Yes, I did. It was… it was a really cruel move. I wasn't in the best place right then. But what you did afterwards, when you just forgave me like that… it really shook me. I was so… in awe, I guess. Why did you forgive me at all? No one would have blamed you if you'd been angry."

Hermione smiled. "Because I've always felt that you earn my forgiveness more than you earn my resentment, Draco. The good things you've given to me have far outweighed the bad things you've done to me… But why did you hide from me? Why didn't you just say what you felt?"

Draco shook his head, looking disappointed in himself. "After I found out what Ron did for you, with your parents… I just felt like such a worthless human being. I knew that I had to win your trust back after all that bullshit with Voldemort. I knew how I'd acted and that I'd betrayed you and when I compared myself to him I just felt so small. I felt like you deserved so much better than me. He was the hero and I'd just broken your heart. So I conceded my loss to him I guess."

"But I never wanted to be a prize, Draco. I think I've realised now that the difference between you and Ron, which puts you on different levels, not higher or lower, just different, was that Ron has always done so much _for _me, and in that, he treats me like a prize. Like he has to win me. That's what our marriage has always been. There's this sense of obligation to him. But you, Draco, I just liked who I was when I was with you. Even when we've spent time together over the years, I've liked who I become when you're around. You bring out the best in me. Ron brings out the worst. That's why I'm here, that's why I left him."

"I feel the same about you. I like who I am with you," he responded quietly.

"What you said before really rang true for me, about how I'm shocked when people see beauty in me because I see myself as so flawed. With you, Draco, I feel flawed but I feel like its ok that I'm like that. And I'm able to look at my flaws with less judgement, less shame. With Ron I feel like I'm always fighting this uphill battle to be something better than I am, because what I am isn't good enough."

Draco nodded in understanding.

After a moment he said, "I've another question."

"Mmm?"

"Why did your patronus come to me when Hugo was born?"

Hermione smiled. "It didn't go to you, Draco, it went to Narcissa. She was the only person who offered me any real compassion and understanding back then. So she was the person my soul cried out to for help. You just happened to be there in the room with her."

He looked slightly disappointed. "Oh."

"But don't feel bad. What you said to me that night, that you weren't going to leave me, I needed to hear that right then. You have no idea how badly I needed to hear that…" she smiled at him gratefully before saying, "I've a question for you, and it's a bit random."

"Hit me."

Hermione grinned mischievously. "Ron said you got a tattoo the day before our wedding. What is it and, more to the point, _where _is it?"

To her surprise, Draco looked very serious in response to this question. He pulled out his wand and took her arm in his hand, laying it flat on the bed so that the skin of her wrist was facing upward. With a wave of his wand, he dispersed the glamour charm that hid the scar that declared her a mudblood, left there by Bellatrix Lestrange so many years ago so that the words shone up at Hermione, white and ugly.

He then unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve, pushed it up, and lay his arm down beside hers. Right where the dark mark had once been printed on his skin there was now a rose, the vines of which snaked down towards his wrist.

He waved his wand again, dispersing his own glamour charm, and the rose was gone, only to be replaced by words.

_Blood traitor_.

Hermione stared down at those words in silence, her heart filling and bursting for him, her stomach flipping and clenching for him, her blood pulsing and flowing for him.

There was the proof of all he'd said, the proof of his feelings.

Then, when she looked up again, into his grey eyes, they both leant forward at the same time. And they kissed.

* * *

Hours and hours later, at three am, when Hermione's eyes were heavy as iron gates, Draco finally got up to leave.

The conversation had been one of the best of Hermione's life, one of the most freeing, one of the most liberating she'd ever had. They hadn't kissed again, they hadn't even touched. They'd just talked.

When they stood together in her lounge room as Draco pulled his cloak back on, there was no awkwardness, no tension. They both looked and felt younger than they had in years.

"We could do it, you know," said Hermione in a husky, sleepy voice, "We could be together."

Draco gave her a long look and smiled. "You don't really believe that though, do you?"

"No," she answered honestly.

"My head tells me the same thing sometimes. It tells me we could run away together. We could go to Romania or something, pick up the Dividing Line magic again… But then I don't really believe in that either. Our lives have taken us a certain way and I don't think we've finished on those paths just yet."

"Neither do I."

"But I don't know that I'll ever stop waiting for you, Hermione."

"I don't think I'll ever stop waiting for you either, Draco."

"But this is enough for now."

"Yes. It's enough," she said and she believed it.

He took a deep breath and looked around at the flat.

"I never thought I'd come back here. But I'm glad I did."

"Me too."

"We've always got the Line, don't we?"

Hermione smiled and nodded.

Draco left then, but she didn't go to sleep right away, as tired as she was. Instead, she sat on the couch and listened to Nirvana and thought.

Draco would always be there. DracoandHermione would always be happening, she knew that now. But she believed what he'd said. Something told her that right then, on that night, when they were both still so entrenched in the chaos of their own lives, it wasn't right. It wouldn't work.

But perhaps someday, somehow, it would.

* * *

_December 15__th__, 2011_.

If Hermione Granger's life could get anywhere near normal, then that's where it got over the following two months. The relationships she had with the people she was close to changed over time, some worsened and some got better.

Ron seemed to have eased out of his loathing for her slightly and would generally allow her access to Rose and Hugo without too much sideways abuse. She still found their brief encounters hard. There was no way of getting around that.

Ginny's passionate anger with Hermione had only seemed to grow as the time passed but at least Harry had made a few appearances at her flat, obviously with the assurance that her situation with Ron wasn't to be brought up at all.

Astoria and Isobel were the people she saw the most of, with the occasional visit from Draco and Bo. Even Narcissa had come to tea at Hermione's flat a few times.

She'd come to learn that Blaise's loyalty, which as Isobel had so accurately predicted, laid with Hermione unequivocally, was causing some tension between himself and Ebony, who, while not as obviously angry as Ginny was, still treated Hermione with chilly indifference when they rarely met.

Aside from them, Hermione didn't see much of the rest of the tovarasi. Padma, Eli, Susan and Dean had fairly harsh opinions about her, she'd been informed, but she didn't hear from them.

Luna had written a few times, talking like she didn't even know what had taken place. George dropped around to see Rose and Hugo when Hermione had them on weekends and Juliet ignored her.

Hermione's parents were, mercifully, travelling overseas, and had been for quite a while. She was glad of this as, knowing that they'd back her decisions no matter what, she didn't want them to have to live in a perpetual war with Molly and Arthur over whose child was the most hard done by.

Rose and Hugo seemed to have gotten used to their arrangement with their parents. They knew now that weekends meant mum and the week meant Dad. Hermione was happy to see that Molly and Arthur didn't seem to be trying to poison them against her, though she would not have been surprised if Molly had tried a few times, she knew that Ron would not allow it, if only for the good of his children.

What surprised her the most, and what sometimes made her laugh with the ridiculousness of it all, was that the tovarasi were capable of being so totally divided by the problems in _her_ marriage. It was not as if they still had all these merry gatherings without her there, no, Ginny, Juliet, Susan, Dean, Padma, Eli, Ebony and Ron almost outright refused to speak to Draco, Isobel, Astoria and Bo just as much as they refused to speak to Hermione. And the people in between like Luna, Harry, George and Blaise just had to cop that sweet.

She was glad that she didn't have to be exposed to the thick, tense at atmosphere that was no doubt pervading over the Auror offices.

The thing that really bothered her about it all was that Hermione would have expected that sort of behaviour from them ten years ago, but she was thirty one. Weren't they past all that sort of thing?

Her life had become such a _topic_. The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly had been having a field day. Hermione Granger: Walked Out On Her Husband. Hermione Granger: Leaves Behind Two Young Children. Hermione Granger: Abandons Job to Work in Bookshop.

Despite the way it all must look, Hermione felt genuinely happy, most of the time. She liked not having so much money, didn't mind that her savings were slowly trickling away, didn't care that she no longer had a big house. She liked her life. Sure it was hard with the tovarasi being in such tatters, and with her situation with Rose and Hugo, which still filled her with a huge amount of shame whenever she dwelt on it. But she felt more like herself, more the Hermione Granger that prowled the corridors of Hogwarts with Harry and Ron and stuck her hand in the air in response to every question she was asked than she had for a long, long time.

And it wasn't until that day, December 15th, two days before she was due to pick up Rose and Hugo for another weekend visit and two full months since she'd left her home with Ron, that the chaos that usually dogged her every step finally caught up on her.

And it came in a letter.

Hermione was sitting on her couch, enjoying a book and a cup of tea as she whiled away the hour that was her lunch break, when the owl tapped on her balcony door.

She set aside the book and stood to let the owl in. It flew through the open door, dropped the letter on her coffee table, before it swooped out again.

Hermione sat down. She looked at the front of the envelope. Her name was the one word it bore, in Ron's hand writing.

With a confused frown, she tore it open.

_Hermione,_

_ I slept with someone.  
I'm sorry, I had to tell you. _

_ I'm sorry._

She could do nothing but stare at it blindly as all her contentedness and self-assuredness disintegrated like sugar in boiling water.

That he could do something like that, write her a letter telling her that he'd cheated, that he'd lacked backbone to tell her something like that face to face, after ten years of marriage, was unthinkable. And yes it was still cheating in her mind, even if they _were_ separated. She might have left him, but they'd not discussed seeing other people at any point. They'd discussed everything but that and she'd thought it was because it didn't need saying. There was no way that she'd even contemplate allowing another man to touch her like that. Her conversation with Draco had been just that, a conversation. She would never have let him touch her sexually. It just felt wrong. Ron had been the only person she'd slept with for a decade, she wasn't about to go and throw that away for a quick fuck.

But clearly Ron felt differently. Clearly it was something she should have brought up. Clearly she should have told him that if he did decide that he needed to get his cock wet, sending her a letter with his confession was absolutely the wrong thing to do.

Hermione stood, barely aware of what she was doing. She pulled on her shoes and her cloak, threw her scarf around her neck and left her flat.

She muttered a hurried excuse to Graham before launching out into Diagon Alley where she immediately turned right towards the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside the bar she moved immediately to the fireplace, threw in a handful of floo powder and ordered it to take her to the Ministry.

* * *

The Atrium was crowded and achingly familiar, full of people calling out greetings and vying for her attention, but Hermione ignored all that. She flew towards the lifts, stepped into one, waited until it landed her in the Magical Law Office, and charged down the hallway before the doors were even open properly.

Bo caught sight of her immediately, as soon as she'd burst through the doors of the Auror Department. The older witch made her way over to her.

"Hermione, what…?"

Hermione didn't give Bo a chance to finish. "Where is he?" she demanded.

"Ron? He's at the café down the road that the boys always go to but…"

Again, Hermione didn't allow her to finish. She strode back through the doors, down the hallway, into the lift, waited for it to take her back to the Atrium and left the Ministry through the visitor's entrance.

By the time she'd walked the three blocks between the Ministry and the café, her rage had reached unimaginable heights.

She saw Ron, sitting at a table with Harry, Draco and Blaise, laughing happily, as if the pain he'd just caused her was nothing at all, as if she didn't exist. And it stung that they were _all _like that. Where had the Slytherin's fierce loyalty gone?

When Ron caught sight of her the laughter died on his face.

She strode towards the table, ignoring Draco, Blaise and Harry's surprised and somewhat guilty greetings.

Hermione threw the now crumpled letter onto Ron's lap before planting her hands on the table and leaning down close to his face.

"I have three questions for you, you adulterous bastard. And you better give me an honest answer to every single one of them or I swear I will make your life a living hell."

Ron managed to give her a gurgled sort of groan in response.

"Question one: who?"

His eyes flicked to his friends as if to ask for help, but the three of them seemed to be quite happy to leave it up to Hermione. They were lucky they did.

"Susan," he answered in a strangled voice after a moment.

Hermione's fists clenched on the tabletop.

"Question two: was this the first time?"

Ron shook his head. "No."

"Question three: were my children in the house?"

"What?!" he spluttered.

Hermione leant a little closer.

"Where my son and daughter in the house while you fucked her?!" she asked again, her voice rising. Heads were beginning to turn in their direction.

"I…"

"ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION!" she bellowed and he flinched, his arms rising up to protect his face and his right knee jerking to protect his groin.

"Yes! Alright?! Yes they were!"

Ron continued to cower while Hermione breathed hard in his face.

"Say goodbye to your house, Weasley, and say goodbye to your children," she told him in a low, deadly calm voice.

She turned away. She turned back again. She punched him squarely in the nose. She turned away again.

Draco, Harry and Blaise all wore expressions ranging from rage to outright disbelief.

"He's all yours," said Hermione before she walked away.

* * *

A/N - Woo! That's the longest chapter I've ever written at 12020 words! I hope that the length is a good thing and not cumbersome.

But anyway. Things are beginning to get very real. Remember that point in Victim of the Fall where everything just kind of went to shit? Welcome to that point lol.

xx

Desdemona


End file.
